It could only be viewed as an inauspicious beginning. But, first, some back story: A good friend of mine had bought me the desk lamp back in 2003. It was needed, and appreciated, but all the same it seemed your standard desk lamp.
It wouldn’t be until a couple of years later, after returning home after a long vacation and having forgotten to turn it off, that I realized it was in fact something quite special, a talisman of sorts. I had never changed the bulb. And that bulb was almost always burning, sometimes–when I myself was capable or forced to do so–for days on end.
After awhile, somehow my success as a writer became linked with the continued health of the bulb. Surely I would burn out along with it. Soon, it was a race between knocking out some books and a novel before we both deteriorated and were scrapheap bound.
As luck would have it, as I prepared to write this my first ever blog, I sat down at the desk and reached over to turn on the light and there was nothing, no spark. Shit, I muttered, then checked to see if somehow the lamp had become unplugged. No luck.
I looked closely at the bulb, strangely enough, for the first time. It was generic from all appearances: no brand name, only the faded specs which read 120V 60W. Rats, I couldn’t even seek out a suitable replacement.
Of course the sharp irony wasn’t lost on me, this endeavor was intrinsically cursed from the start it seemed. Gone already were my good feelings and most of my bright ideas.
I sulked to the corner store, bought the most generic bulb I could find. Came home and, stooping to replace Old Nelly the Workhorse, I turned her the wrong way and lo! there was light! There was life! Sure, it was of the flickering sort, but there was still something left.
So, I tightened her as much as possible and, the room flickering like a cheap disco, I wrote this. Now if I can only finish that novel in time before the two of us hear Ahab singing….
hey man… nice site. I hope the net has insurance.