Writer’s Block

So it’s late afternoon and I’ve decided that I want to write a little something. You know, just a little something to keep my ever aging brain ticking. Thinking of buzzwords for today ; dawn, solemn, somber. They all start cropping up. In the outside world as in literally, on the other side of my front door, there is a hustle. The type of hustle we are so eager to escape from. Yet, I take a quick glance. Unfortunately I stare straight at my metaphorical car and look at its metaphorical sticker on its most definitely metaphorical rear window. “A block is for life, not just for christmas”.

There he is again, scampering around the house, scratching away at the front door. Reminding me that once in a while, the block needs attention and will prevent you from focussing your mind anywhere else. I place my fingers to the keyboard, and attempt to make a single stroke. No! dear old block will not stand for it, and so leaves the door scratching then jumps up onto the desk. You little solid clump. “PLEASE, not now, anytime but now” if i were some sort of ghost lingering in my own home, watching this happen, I’d most probably look at myself and think “poor sod”, haha, poor me.

I watch the panting block and consider my options. I mean this thing has got to weigh like 100kg at least. Maybe I’ll be able to coax it off with some sort of sugary treat. I unwrap the chocolate bar (typical, I know) and devour it. Wait a couple of minutes.

There is no sign of progress. Bouncing on my toes, ready for block to move so that I can make a Usain Bolt-like sprint to the desk. Tapping my foot, to feel the rhythm of the “wind beneath my feet?”. Ridiculous. I’ve moved about frantically and block remains sleeping in the way of any success. Honestly, I would have beaten it half to death, if I had the heart to do so.

Solemn, I sit on the couch and start thinking. “It’s not like I’ve got anything particularly important to say. I mean, how does J.K. Rowling put up with her block? And what is it with us writers and our obsession with blocks, I could have named mine a circle. That’s what it feels like sometimes, endless, continuous, every word synonymous for forever. Nope, we like our blocks. Road blocks, toilet blocks, even children have blocks. Perhaps we are a nation of obsessed block lovers. At least the pressure is off on me, I haven’t got to write any official articles, or reports. I don’t have to form my words in the most delicate manner before I put them down. And I haven’t got to worry about my audience suspecting that I’m implying that professor Snape is Harry Potter’s real father. Because, all that would be too much pressure. Ha, could you imagine if Moses had a block. “In the beginning there was…” block. No, you aren’t going to continue, you have to take me out for a walk, NOW. Well, I’d feel rather sorry for that block. God would most probably smite it. Smite, what a word.

Yours always,

© Ciinders. TheSoulsWord™


~ by Ciinders on September 19, 2011.

One Response to “Writer’s Block”

  1. haha, i would name mine a mountain.

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