There is something wonderful about using an old computer to write short stories. Flash fiction seems like something doable with the small amounts of free time that I may have. So here we go:

It was a cold morning. The bedroom was just beginning to light up with the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I didn't want to wake up. I still felt the heavy hand of fatigue from another all nighter. Then suddenly the reminder of my unemployment seeped into my brain and pushed me off the lumpy mattress. 

I get up, wash myself, brush my teeth, and change my clothes. I eat a bowl of cheerios with some honey and begin to review my thoughts from yesterday. In the office the old computer I found in the dumpster is waiting for me. It's an old 900 MHz Duron with 140 MB of RAM. I managed to get a 20 GB hard disk for it from the University surplus warehouse for $20 bucks. The thought of making this pile of junk do something useful was my biggest thrill every day. 

With Darn Small Linux and the Ted editor I began my work every day writing sci-fi flash fiction for an online website. The long hours in front of the machine were enjoyable. I would get lost every day in the world I created. Every real life distraction broke me out of my euphoria. Yes euphoria. The peace and quiet of my home, the hum of my machine, the sweet taste of the cinnamon roll I just heated in the microwave. This was paradise for me, maybe not for somebody else, but it was for me. 

The days without inspiration were pretty bad though. That's when the darkness would creep in. Those dark thoughts of depair, of not wanting to continue for fear that I was wasting my time. I don't know how I managed to break out of those debilitating moments of writer's block alone. Maybe there was someone out there helping me out. Preventing my mind from straying to far from the goal. What was my goal anyways? Right now it seemed like I was just writing to survive, to make enough for another pack of cinnamon rolls. 

Einstein was quoted as saying that imagination is more important than knowledge. The work I did was important for those whose imagination has been stifled by the harsh demands of reality. So what am I doing here as I write about the glorious lives of science fiction writers when I myself am doing the same? Some times the dreamers need some coaxing to dream a bigger dream. Maybe that's why instead of writing a story I'm writing about the story teller. Could it be possible that such meta-introspection also has value? Could also help someone as poor and dumb as myself? 

Everyone has a story to share. Everyone should be writing it down. Whatever it is, no matter how poor you think the quality of it is. You should write it down. There is a sense of release, a sense of growth, a sense of accomplishment, a sense of mental exercise that comes from writing. I tend to love writing about writing, programming about programming, and loving for the sake of love.