The Day My Keyboard Betrayed Me: A Writer’s Descent Into Vowel-Less Madness
It began, as all great tragedies do, with denial.
“I’m suuuure it’s fine,” I muttered, aggressively stabbing at my keyboard like it owed me money. “It’s probably just… dust.”
Dust, apparently, had a vendetta against the letters R, E, T and the numbers 3, 4, 5.
A highly specific vendetta.
I discovered this mid-sentence while attempting to write what should have been a perfectly innocent line:
“The hero returned to the street at 3:45 PM.”
What I got instead was:
“Th h o u nd o h s a : PM.”
At first glance, this appeared to be ancient prophecy. Possibly a curse. Definitely not English.
Phase One: Denial
I continued writing.
Because I am a professional.
And by “professional,” I mean “someone who will absolutely continue typing nonsense rather than stop and fix a problem.”
Soon my manuscript began to read like a linguistically distressed pigeon had taken over:
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“Sh was h app st in h wo ld.”
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“Th ci y was qu i bu d u d a s.”
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“I lov w i ing, i’s my fa o i hing.”
At one point, I tried to type “great tension” and ended up with:
“g a nsion”
Which sounds less like storytelling advice and more like a minor medical condition.
Phase Two: Adaptation
I got creative.
Writers adapt. We overcome. We… avoid specific letters like they’re toxic exes.
I started rephrasing everything:
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“Returned” became “came back”
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“Street” became “road”
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“Three” became “uh… two plus one”
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“Four” became “one less than five” (which, ironically, I also couldn’t type)
My writing style evolved into something between caveman poetry and a hostage note.
“Man go back. Sun down. Bad things soon.”
Honestly? Kind of powerful.
Phase Three: Madness
It was around hour three (or “hou h” as I typed it) that things really began to unravel.
I attempted dialogue:
“Wh a you doing h ?” h said.
I don’t know who “h” is, but he’s deeply concerned and possibly missing vowels.
Then came numbers.
Numbers are important. Especially in plots. Timelines. Deadlines. Sanity.
But without 3, 4, and 5, my outline started looking like this:
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Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter ???
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Chapter ??
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Chapter “just go with it”
At one point I wrote:
“He waited minutes.”
Which feels like both too long and not long enough.
Phase Four: Bargaining
I tried everything.
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Blowing into the keyboard like it was a cursed Nintendo cartridge
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Shaking the laptop (gently, then less gently)
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Whispering encouraging words like, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie, just give me ONE ‘E’”
Nothing.
The keyboard remained firm in its decision: No R. No E. No T. No 3, 4, or 5.
It was less a malfunction and more a personality trait.
Phase Five: Acceptance
Eventually, I had to face the truth.
I could not finish a novel using only half the alphabet and morally questionable math.
I mean, technically I could…
But it would read like this:
“Th wol nd n. H os. P opl sc am. No hop. No u n.”
Which, to be fair, is a pretty solid apocalyptic vibe.
(Adding that to my ideas list.)
The Final Straw
The breaking point came when I tried to type my own name in a document.
And failed.
I stared at the screen. The screen stared back.
We both knew what had to be done.
Conclusion: A Necessary Purchase
So yes.
I bought a new computer.
Not because I wanted one. Not because I needed an upgrade.
But because my current keyboard had decided that vowels were optional, consonants were negotiable, and numbers were a suggestion.
And while I pride myself on creativity…
There is only so much one can do when “the end” becomes:
“h nd”
Which, frankly, feels less like a conclusion and more like the beginning of a new horror story.
In loving memory of the letters R, E, T and the numbers 3, 4, 5.
You were taken too soon.
Or… not typed at all.
😉