Danelle Bailey

Designer

61

3

Graphics Tablet Pen

FINAL DRAFT

I am born of and for creativity. Into the hand of a young soul opening her heart to learn and make her mark on the world. The sum of what she will leave behind is still to be known. And I will be a part of her journey. 

She has kept me nearby for nearly a decade now. I am like an old friend who though not always keeping in touch comes back into her life like I never left. We create something amazing together. Even a few strokes from her hand to express a personal whim to be shared with no one else, we are together for that moment. And then, I wait for our next opportunity.

I am molded from the form of historical knowns and familiar devices into an era of technological bridges that must be built to push humans forward. I am a bridge between mind and digital. 

The quill dipping into a juicy well, the smoothness of digital ink. Sensitive to her warmth and pressure, I flirt with the cool smooth surface of my necessary partner to create a magical connection. The friction is invisible, but the future is here. It seems to feel my existence. 

Our initiation was one of deep seeded desire, of which she could barely afford but made happen as destiny would have it. Among her tiny apartment, crowded desk and cheap wares I was shipped to  and made home wherever her desk and creative tools lived. Her priorities were always clear, and I knew where I stood from the first day. I was a prized possession of expression which allowed a new world for her. The days of pure exploration, paired with a wide eyed wonder. 

I have witnessed bedrooms, romance, offices, many bags and musical trends. I have felt the heat of summers with stifling air, and winters where I shivered as she slept in her futon next to me after a long night of harsh screen light on her face. I made friends with the large box that she stared at for hours, and which breathed at night as she. I painfully watched her box up my friend and ship her away for another’s use, and still I somehow stay. 

These days I watch as her family grows, and the time spent nearby seems to be less, yet passionate as ever. I wait, teasing her with the whimsy of my charm, and the feeling of an open canvas. She fulfills my desires, expressing in a harmony between human and digital.

I have smelled the coffee brew at midnight, and the morning breath of a desperate soul clinging to her dreams. Thanks to my creators, the need for another has yet to come. I pray the day never comes, for today is a new day to be alive in the comfort of my home until we dance the steps we were made to as a team. 

I pray she never realizes. After it all, I am just a tool.

FIRST DRAFT (exactly 500 words):

I am born of and for creativity. Into the hand of a young soul opening her heart to learn and make her mark on the world. The sum of what she will leave behind is still to be known. And I will be a part of her journey.  

She has kept me nearby for nearly a decade now. I am like an old friend who though not always keeping in touch comes back into her life like I never left. We create something amazing together. Even a few strokes from her hand to express a personal whim to be shared with no one else, we are together for that moment. And then, I wait for our next opportunity.

I am molded from the form of historical knowns and familiar devices into an era of technological bridges that must be built to push humans forward. I am a bridge between mind and digital. 

The quill dipping into a juicy well, the smoothness of digital ink. Sensitive to her warmth and pressure, I flirt with the cool smooth surface of my necessary partner to create a magical connection. The friction is invisible, but the future is here. It seems to feel my existence. 

Our initiation was one of deep seeded desire, of which she could barely afford but made happen as destiny would have it. Among her tiny apartment, crowded desk and cheap wares I was shipped to  and made home wherever her desk and creative tools lived. Her priorities were always clear, and I knew where I stood from the first day. I was a prized possession of expression which allowed a new world for her. The days of pure exploration, paired with a wide eyed wonder. 

I have witnessed bedrooms, romance, offices, many bags and musical trends. I have felt the heat of summers with stifling air, and winters where I shivered as she slept in her futon next to me after a long night of hash screen light on her face. I made friends with the large box which she stared at for hours, and which breathed at night as she. I painfully watched her box up my friend and ship her away for another’s use, and still I somehow stay. 

These days I watch as her family grows, and the time spent nearby seems to be less, yet passionate as ever. I wait, teasing her with the whimsy of my charm, and the feeling of an open canvas. She fulfills my desires, expressing in a harmony between human and digital.

I have smelled the coffee brew at midnight, and the morning breath of a desperate soul clinging to her dreams. Thanks to my creators, the need for another has yet to come. I pray the day never comes, for today is a new day to be alive in the comfort of my home until we dance the steps we were made to as a team. 

I pray she never realizes. After it all, I am just a tool.

RESEARCH:

http://paintboxtv.wpengine.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/2009-08-Wacom_Art_of_Making_Marks_About_How_It_All_Started.pdf 

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