Sitting at his keyboard he’s stuck. Another story due and nothing written. It was draining trying to find a new topic or a fresh look at an old topic.
He had gone through his regular mental stimulants. Nothing had worked, not his favourite coffee shop, listening to jazz, reading parts of different books, doodling on a note pad or going for a walk. He was still stuck. He sat and stared at his computer. All he needed was a few words to force open the tap.
He typed and deleted and typed and deleted. He checked the clock. He had been at his keyboard for an hour and the screen was still empty. He was glad the clock didn’t tick; the sound of a clock ticking would have gotten on his nerves worse than the plink, plink, plink of a dripping faucet.
Every writer’s nightmare… writer’s block. Incoherent ideas, words, and plots frozen in his mind; nothing would flow. Growling at himself and grinding his teeth he pushed away from his desk.
In the kitchen he checked the fridge and cupboards a couple of times. He wasn’t hungry and he didn’t get any flashes of writing brilliance. He put the kettle on, maybe a cup of green tea would help. In a few minutes the kettle had boiled and the tea was ready. He left it on the counter and looked out the window. He procrastinated further by taking Shelby out. She just sat on the walkway.
Watching her didn’t give him any ideas. He picked her up and went back into the house. Shelby wandered over to her bed and lay down. She was asleep in a few seconds.
Taking his tea he wandered back into his office and sat in front of his computer. The screen was still blank. The story was still due. The only thing that had changed was the time displayed on the clock.
He opened a folder and read other articles he had written. He flicked through partially written stories and notes for new stories. Nothing.
He played an online game of Scrabble and then another and then another. Nothing. He only had a few hours left to write and edit his story. He took a sip of his tea. It was cold.
He put his fingers on his keyboard. The white screen still stared at him. He typed. “I hate writer’s block.” The story grew from there. He had busted through. The only sound was the click of the keyboard. The story was flowing.
Writing can be hard work. At times there too many ideas and words and at other times there are none. The key to writing is to get started. Write something, anything. Get words on the blank screen and it will start to happen. It may not be brilliant, it may not be prize winning but it will be writing. Once the words start to flow it gets easier. A writer feels best when the words flow. A good writer knows he has to write every day and that some days will be harder than others.