I was relieved when I walked out of her flat in Coogee as my computer was functioning.   To my astonishment, I had, in twenty minutes, surrounded by the cacophony of her four children, discovered how to use “The Stick” – or as explained to me earlier, the “Flash Drive”.

My generation struggles to comprehend such things.   So you can understand my delight and how I transcended the 45 minute traffic jam back to my garret in Kings Cross by astral travelling, imagining a Victoria Falls flood of creativity about to be unleashed.  I had battled with a beast and won.

When I walked into the bedsit, awash with confidence, it took just a minute, I am proud to say, to conduit complex cords which trailed treacherously underfoot.  I felt quite masterful.

Then “IT” sang to me an angel song of life and I watched the dear faces of my two men appear on the screen – hah, you see, I am learning!   I watched and waited impatiently for the little whirling circle to stop its dancing – then the screen went blank.

The rest of the evening is not worth sharing, except to say that it is the professional opinion of my husband, one of the brightest men I know, with whom I spent a couple of tearful hours,  is that “IT” died.  Metaphorically in my arms, as I gazed in anticipation.

I still have “The Stick”.

What I don’t have is the award winning masterpiece I wrote on Monday.

That lies, ingested and undigested, in the black belly of “IT”.

Sandra Groom

6-10th February 2012

During a writing course with mark Tredinnick at The Womens College

15 Carillon Avenue, Newtown.