Legostory (A Man with a Dream)

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People talk about books that write themselves, and it’s a lie. Books don’t write themselves. It takes thought and research and backache and notes and more time and more work than you’d believe.
Neil Gaiman “Smoke and Mirrors”

“The irritating question they ask us—us being writers—is: “Where do you get your ideas?”
And the answer is: Confluence. Things come together. The right ingredients and suddenly: Abracadabra!”

Neil Gaiman “Smoke and Mirrors”

Numbness. Stupor. Torpor. Fully absent-mindedness in my head. I had never thought it would happen to me. However, it seemed that I could nearly hear agonizing sounds of convolutions creaking and gnashing inside, my brain desperately was trying to yield any intelligible thought. And to no purpose… The minutes were slipping away; a hand of the clock was implacably rushing ahead – another hour of my time was wasted in vain. I was looking at a snow-white sheet of paper. It remained clear; my scribble had not sullied it yet. To some extent, it was a pity to spoil that kind of perfection. May be someone else – obviously it is not going to be me – would create a real masterpiece. Therefore, it was better to keep it chaste.
To cut a long story short, it is how my attempt to write the first post looked like more or less. I had been pondering over what theme to choose, but nothing came to my mind. Suddenly my telephone rang – I had got a message.
A small digression.
I had told my friends about the task I had to write. After that a lot of them started to send me different pictures of cute Lego-men, they had found via the Internet. At first, it was just like a joke reminding about the work I had to do. There was a huge number of photos and a lot of them were really amazing. People were making photos of these small Lego-beings, creating life scenes with them, or contriving their Lego-life. At that moment, I understood, that for some of them it had turned into something more special than just an unusual way to have fun. Finally, it had so inspired me that I started writing these lines immediately.
And today I would like to tell you a story about a man and his dream. Once upon a time somewhere in the world there lived one man, who was just as ordinary as many others. It is even possible that you met him on the streets of your town, in public transport in early hours among people trying to get to their workplaces. You probably went to the same shop every week, saw him in the crowd, or sat near him in one of that cozy cafés drinking the first cup of coffee in the morning. However, no one remembered his name or how he looked like. There was nothing special at all about that man. More than that, he was such a mediocrity that his dream was rather simple and mundane. There were even people who would doubt to call it a dream. You ask me why? The answer is very simple: everything that man was dreaming about – a comfortable house, a small car, a beloved wife, and nice children.
to be continued…

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