I used to see the blinking cursor on a white page, domineering, overbearing, sneering at me. At my lack. At the spaces I dared not take up. I could almost hear it saying, "You're always like that. Parking me at this point in a huge, open white space. You set the plan, the time, and the possible sources of inspiration. But still, here I stand. You always cower to make me move." So now I am here, making the cursor run on th...