The Damn Hard Yarn

Light was present within the room. A student sat in a chair and looked at the computer screen and examined it and thought about what he was going to write about. “I have to be a man and write this up,” he said to himself. A tree rustled outside. The student turned his head and paused. Nothing. He turned back to the computer screen. “Spinning a yarn is damn hard,” he said. His mother came into the room. “Hey, you can write, how do I spin a yarn?” he asks.

“A story is all about a protagonist’s obstacles and what they do to overcome them.”

“That’s kind of dumb, sometimes you get stories with nothing at all in them.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” his mother conceded. She walked away.

“Wow, this really is bad,” the student said, “I have to grow a pair to write a story. Writer’s block sucks.”

Eye brows folded together and eyelids slitted downwards without a sound. The corners of his mouth curled. If I can’t be a man, I’ll have nothing but pain, he thought, I won’t experience real love and real dreams and real security. The light in the room withdraws its presence and shadows lengthen. “Bah,” he said, “Why do I care? A man could be anything, anyone.” He got up and paced and grabbed the container of water. He drank it and smacked his lips. He walked back to his chair and settled himself and smiled. I could be anything, he thought. He started moving his fingers across the keyboard and his eyes followed everything. Any mistake that was made was immediately corrected, along with a succeeding exclamation. “Bah,” he said, “Being a man is so pointless.” The shadows became full and the TV in the next room over was turned to a different channel. He turned his head. Nothing. He let out a sigh and continued to clack away at the keyboard.

“How’s that yarn coming?” his mother asked after stepping into the room.

“Eh, it’s all kind of dry, ya know?”

“Well, I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know, I’m proud that you put so much work into this stuff.”

“Yeah, well. Sometimes I wonder.”

She left the room. The scents of dinner started filling the air. “Bah, why is being a kid so great and mystical and being a man so straightforward and tough?” the student said. He got up to earn his prize of food. A tree rustled outside.

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2 comments on “The Damn Hard Yarn

  1. It sucks trying to write like Ernest Hemingway.

  2. Valkyrie says:

    I hate Hemingway. But I love this. 🙂

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