The Innermost Workings of the Average Writer’s Mind

Many loose scribbles and stacks of blank paper consume the cramped bachelor’s den- like space. One man sits at an ancient oaken desk in a short black computer chair while another stands behind him, using the desk’s solidity to support himself. The first of the two men is short, his hair twists in short curls of brown and rims rest easily on the bridge of his nose; well supported by their arms’ sturdy perch upon his ears. The latter man stands tall and lanky and without knowing, is always angled oddly to his left. His long black hair hangs in a tail, and similarly thick, almost opaque circles of glass sit in place in front of his dark green orbs.

These are found in every writer, and while sex may very, their titles always equate to the same thing. They are forever known as the writer’s “Super Geek Mind Men (or in an equal opportunity mind, persons)”. They are an epic team of quick witted, long pondering, ultra creative fearer of women. While no novel will go unfinished, no poem unrhymed, and no computer game un-mastered, this normally stalwart duo hides in fear at the sight of a pretty face, knowing that their knowledge and witty sarcasm will get them nowhere. These two, my friends, are why so few writers ever make it to the first date, let alone marriage, and these are the true masterminds behind every writer’s finest work.

You want to know just how it all actually works you say? Are you sure, it’s not for the faint of heart… Well, I suppose you deserve to know, but don’t say I didn’t warn you…

(In a slightly congested and dreary voice)

“Hey Zack, ‘sniffle sniffle’, damned allergies! Where’s the cleanex? Ah there it is!”

This initial statement is followed right about…here…by an ungodly noise that no man or woman, no matter how geeky, should ever be forced to endure. Now another sound enters the fray of undesirable noises…

(Unexpectedly phlegm free and clear ringing…albeit at a pitch so high one would expect glass to shatter and steal to bend…frustration is clear in this one’s tone.)

“What is wrong with you?! I told you that’s not my name! Don’t you ever do that again or I’ll locate the nearest vortex (or black hole for us “normies”) using my unparalleled and super long range molecular-reflector tele-gyro-scope, and fueled by my need for vengeance, complete the plans for my low density astral launcher to project you right into it! Understand?”

A sigh of resignation, the one you hear when ever a geek has labeled you a geek, can be heard coming from the very bowels of Chris…

“Wouldn’t want to get fired into a black hole by low density astral launcher now would we…” he thinks to himself.

His response though, was also one of resignation, though this time tinged with the delightful scent of sarcasm..

“Ya, ya, fine, whatever Zaphoid the Great.”

Zaphoid seemed pleased by this, standing just a little bit straighter at the mention of his self-proclaimed title. (Though his awkward left-slant remained.)

“I’m not quite certain what it is we’re going to do today, but whatever it is, I hope it involves dice!”

There was nothing Zaphoid loved more than a good role-playing game. Something about rolling a natural twenty when the fate of the universe was sitting on his bonny slanted shoulders made him feel alive!

(For those of you who lead normal lives, and actually walk out into the sunlight more than once a month, this isn’t the “I’ve been a bad girl, Mr. police man you better cuff me.” fun in the bedroom kind of role-playing. In this stuff, there’s no women involved…)

Chris knew better than that though. Game night was Monday night, and occasionally Sunday if everyone was free and they got really lucky; today was Wednesday…

So to quote a great saying, pun intended...”No dice.”

Looking to his friend, he almost felt bad saying it, but then remember that crushing Zaphoid’s hopes was the best part of his day.

“Sorry my friend, it’s Wednesday, no dice!”

Chris immediately smirked, silently congratulating himself on his clever play on words. Zaphoid only scowled.

“Well then what ARE we going to do?”

Chris already knew the answer to that.

“I’m thinking work on this book. This tool keeps trying, but could come up with a good plot or a decent paragraph if it was given to him. As usual, we’re going to have to do it for him.”

(You see, its common knowledge that people don’t actually write good pieces, they just think up a concept, and the mind men do all the work. Like all geeks, they have little respect for anyone…even each other.)

Not even bothering to wait for a response, Chris went to work, beginning to scribble and jot down sentence after sentence in some of the least legible attempt at writing conceivable, mouthing words to himself as he went along.

Zaphoid clearly wasn’t feeling overly motivated. Lazy, like all geeks, and still thinking of rolling dice, he decided instead to begin snacking on Cheetos and Mountain Dew; common fare to all who call themselves geeks. This practice was the source of the very common rounded pot belly, often found on these sheltered men. With dedication and a conscious lack of work, even the most slender of them, like Zaphoid, could attain this revered symbol of true geekhood.

( Experts suspect that this is how “humanus geekius”, Latin for the common household geek, remain dormant, almost in a hibernate state, in their parents basements for so many months of the year.)

Both men had comfortably eased into the day’s flow when it happened. A terribly loud alarm, placed where the fire alarm should have been, began its shrill ring. They looked to one another with horrified expression on their faces. There was something they feared more than fire….

“WrAAAoooWWW, WrAAAoooWWW. DiNg DiNg DiNg. WrAAAoooWWW.”

A woman.

The geeks scrambled for cover, rushing to a cabinet in the corner of the room with a glass cover and a little hammer hanging from its side marked “EMERGENCY USE ONLY “.

Zaphoid looked wildly at Chris as if not sure what to do.

“DO IT!” Chris screamed hysterically.

Zaphoid almost jumped he was so startled. Grabbing the tiny hammer, he raise it nervously and then swung it into the glass, shattering the cover. Inside was two sets of chain mail, two skull caps with nose guards, and a pair of golden dice. They donned the equipment in a awkward hurried frenzy, bumping into one another and stumbling about until they finally got it on.

A screen by the paper strewn desk lit up, showing an image of a terribly lovely blond girl with blue eyes, and a tight tank top to match. As she drew closer, the image grew larger and larger on the screen. The geeks shrank bank deeper into the corner, terror stuck.

“By Odin, what do we do?”

Chris looked at his companion.

“Throw it!”

Zaphoid fumbled with the die in his hand.

“Only the gods can save us now….”

Raising his hand to throw the die, he closed his eyes tight.

“Please let me critical….”

As you can see, this is a world that only the most prepared writer can tap into without potential disaster. For most, these little muses stay dormant, but for those who are strong enough, and attain true greatness, they can only thank the true geniuses behind the pen, the “Supper Geek Mind Men”.

Author's Note: Well it only took me 2 years, 7 months, and 3 days...but after publishing this with promises of completion, its finally done. I hope its everything you hoped it would be. Please do review.