Cursor Curative

Greetings to all you strata storytellers! Last week we transformed layers of dryer lint into a canvas of markers of our weekly routine, a history of every wardrobe malfunction and costume change. Our challenge was to find stories in that dusty little catch-all of our clothes dryer. Did you reverse engineer your lint screen so it could reconstitute your lint into replacements for your missing socks? Maybe you laid down some laughable lyrics about the time lint saved your life…or ended a relationship! We often use our clothes as a way to make a statement about ourselves. I hope you enjoyed playing around with this idea and looking at how domestic chores can help our creative side dress for success.

For this week’s creative nudge, we’re swapping the tactile for the technological and fixating our gaze on something many of us face every day with a mix of dread and hope: the blinking cursor.

For anyone who has ever stared at a blank screen, that tiny pulsing line is a metronome of pressure, a relentless reminder of what you are not doing—building a to-do list, coding a cool new app, or creating that next best seller. I know the feeling well.

What about the frustration of losing that blinking cursor as a placeholder the moment I finally think of something worth writing down? Yes, I still sit and think of words (sometimes) to write in this age of generative AI tools. Writers like me see it as the silent judge of our digital lives, a tiny, demanding spotlight.

But what if we took some artistic license and reframed that blinking light? Its very nature is binary—on, off, on, off—and its purpose is to show us precisely where to begin. And begin again. It’s the digital equivalent of an ever-clean slate. Its skinny profile obscures a truth: it’s a point of pure potential. What’s on the other side of this gateway to a more creative day? Anything you want; after all, you are the gatekeeper.

While writing is often the goal, the blinking cursor can inspire creative exercises that don’t involve a single written word, allowing us to think about the act of creation in a new, expansive way. Open a “new document,” then revise and edit your perspective with one or more of these creative not-writing prompts:

Cursory Gaze (Visual & Focus): Open a blank document and move the cursor slowly around the page using only your mouse or trackpad. It’s not about writing, but about focusing your eye and freeing your mind. Can you “draw” a picture or a shape with its movement? Is there a rhythm to your choices?
Sound OFF/ON (Auditory & Conceptual): The blinking cursor is a visual metronome. What would it sound like if it had an audio component? Would it be a subtle click, a gentle hum, or a soft, rhythmic drumbeat? Create the sound yourself using a simple sound maker or vocal imitation. Recording optional.
Do Cursors Dream of Electric Sheep? (Narrative & Personification): Imagine the blinking cursor has a mind of its own. What does it think as it waits for you to write? What stories has it seen come to life on the screen, and what moments of frustration has it experienced? Storyboard an animated short of your “cursory” adventures.
Hambone Metronome (Physical & Tangible): Take a small handheld object like a pencil or a pen. Hold it and tap it rhythmically, mimicking the on-and-off pulse of the blinking cursor. Think of it as a low-tech version of Guitar Hero. This physical action can help you reconnect with the act of creating.
Re-Enter (Design & Conceptual): If you could change the blinking cursor to be less intimidating, what would you design? Would it be a different shape, color, or even a small icon? Try not to recall Clippy’s folly. Sketch out or describe your new cursor design to a chatbot and let the conversation begin.

The blinking cursor does not have to be just a relentless reminder of all the words you haven’t written. Instead, reframe its insistence as building excitement about your impending beautiful composition. The moment before the music begins is filled with a powerful, electric silence, and the cursor is that moment. It’s not judging your empty page; it’s anticipating the first word, the first image, the lasting thought you want to leave with your audience.

This column was written with the help of Google’s Gemini Advanced, a generative AI writing tool.