Writer's block. | Teen Ink

Writer's block.

August 15, 2011
By Robkingett PLATINUM, Tallahassee, Florida
Robkingett PLATINUM, Tallahassee, Florida
24 articles 0 photos 86 comments

Favorite Quote:
When I was little they called me a liar, but now I'm grown up, they call me a writer.

The writer sits, staring at the computer screen. Minutes race by and the ghostly white of blank page of Microsoft Word begins etch itself onto the writer’s retinas. Sanity tiptoes out of the room as the writer considers using the hypnotically blinking cursor as a main character.

“I have to start somewhere… I have to start somewhere…” the writer, repeats the exorcism in a rustling whisper, beginning to rock back and forth. A knocked-over dictionary hits the ground with a thud; the author twitches and snaps out of the trance.

The trees were tall.

The writer’s shaking fingers strike the dusty keyboard. A sigh of relief echoes through the room, “first words are the hardest to write, the rest should be easy… should be easy…” Optimistic, the writer begins to ponder the next words.

“The trees were tall… the trees were tall…” the writer chants as the rocking motion is resumed. “ Think logically,” the writer advises the blinking cursor “if the trees were tall… they were tall because…” In a bizarre twist of fate, cursor fails to answer.

“Screw you!” the writer scolds the delete button, poking it until the screen is clear once more.

The trees were not tall.

“There!” due to the previous disappointment with the cursor, the comment is instead directed at the computer’s blinking processor in the hopes that the latter possesses a greater intellect “This is much better. If the trees weren’t tall, they were… short… and…?” The processor flashes green, and then winks in red.

“You’re absolutely correct,” the writer informs the processor “what the hell do the trees have to do with anything?”

After further abuse of the delete button, the writer triumphs.

There were no trees.

“It was so ingenious, yet so simple. The trees had nothing to do with the plot. The plot was… it was about… there was a plot, wasn’t there?”

The writer blinks, tuning into the frequency of both the cursor and the processor, before collapsing into hysterical laughter. Crystalline tears flow and the writer hits Control+N. This time, the first words form so much easier

The writer sits, staring into the computer screen.

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