Bursting Open Writers Block

Just Another Thought...

Here it comes again, writers block. No, it’s arrived already. How dare it arrive uninvited, unwanted, unrequested, and by all means, unsummoned and gravely unwelcomed. How often must I suffer the presence of the most undesirable of all the cursed things to lay itself upon the mind and hand of a crafter of words. Unwritten words demanding life and liberty to liberate the inner most expressions and inhibitions of man, and woman kind alike.

I pray, suffer me not the drudgery of a blank page, patiently awaiting the arrival of my first word. That first word so illusive yet, my blankness waits’ mockingly on paper and screen. Oh that blank space of whiteness, or worse yet, its very near relative; the computer monitors screen. Just as the blank page, the cursor first mocks me with that continuous blinking of its presence.

I look at it as I do the page of nothing. They both offer no hint of what I should say or, how I should go about saying it. I wait on them – they wait on me - neither of us willing to yield the first hint of breaking.

However, I have the advantage. I, the writer, the crafter of sentences and paragraphs, do indeed have the advantage. The master of written mistakes and student of beloved rewrites, have the advantage of leaving them where they lay and sit. I can escape to task less defined, less rewarding and less accomplishing. Rather than take the cowards way out, I wait in hopes my rescue will soon arrive.

Finally, in the furthest recesses of my mind, something moves. I know it is there because, I had fallen asleep. My rescuer, that portion of my mind so well empower with the ability to deny my presence, as well as my absence, has offered me a grain of incentive.

Though I am not fully awake, I feel it approaching. A word, or was it a thought? I cannot recall, and at the time, I dared not interfere. It started much as a pebble would from a sling-shoot. From its launch, it began small. If you were standing on the opposite side of a plate glass window, and have unobstructed view of its approach, you would understand.

Slowly I watched this pebble of a thought approach. As it gained its arch, it began to grow slightly. Coming nearer, it grew only slightly larger.

Suddenly slamming into the window, that small idea exploded into a spiders web of possibilities, all connected. My rescue had arrived. I needed only to pick and choose the course I would take to accomplish my writing task.

Ready and armed with baskets of thoughts and directions, I returned my attention to the monitors screen and blank white paper ready to write. Then the electrical power failed, and again I was plunged into the dark. Now, I must try and remember where I put my candles and matches. Oh the life of a writer.