It is very hard to write when someone is staring at me. Where is the mystery-loving dog who is supposed to be a warm companion as I spin spooky tales of terror? But, no. He stares. Nemo does not like the computer.
Is Nemo a victim of Logizomechanophobia, computer phobia, or is he trying to tell me something? Maybe I am the one who should be afraid. Deep within the internal workings of the amazing device, does there lurk a troll or a mad, invisible mystery muncher who oozes invisibly through the computer’s keyboard, stealing plot ideas and replacing them with the dreaded writer’s block? Maybe Nemo is trying to warn me.
I get up to pour another cup of coffee and he is over-joyed, trotting ahead of me with an encouraging flick of the tail. As I return to my previous perch before the computer’s screen, he puts his nose to the floor, scenting invisible footprints maybe. At last, he becomes dejected at my inability to understand and flops down on the carpet, his back turned to the computer.
I sip my coffee and type, wondering what Nemo knows and wishing I knew too.
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