My curled fingers hover hesitantly over the keyboard. Maybe I should do this on Word? Okay, open Word. New document. Really, frozen? At a time like this? Alright, I’ll just create a new post.
What do I write? A poem sounds good. Ugh, but I can never write poetry on the spot. Anyways, this just sounds like a story. Well, not really. I don’t know what it sounds like. Whatever, what to write about? Not a poem, not a story. I can’t write today… Oh! I can’t write today!
Write about how you can’t write. Genius. Not that no one has ever done that before. ‘Who’s gonna read this crap anyways,’ my inner demon says? ‘What does it matter if no one reads this? Be logical, all you are is a fourteen year old girl who wanted to write for gods sake. So just write,’ my inner angel says. Shut up, you two! I’m trying to think.
Now all is quiet. Too quiet. Any second now Alexandra will come screaming down the stairs for me to get off the computer. What’s the point if I won’t be able to finish this? And when will Beverly call me back about the housekeeping? I hope I didn’t do a terrible job the first time. I’ve never cleaned a whole house before so what was she expecting?
No! I can’t think about housekeeping at a time like this. I need to write.
Okay then. Here’s the thing. I can’t write today. I couldn’t write yesterday. I couldn’t even write the day before that. I typed my symptoms into the Google search bar and I found that my ailment is Writers Block. I tried to find a cure too, but all of the remedies were quite vague and varying. One person said that I should write anyways. Another said that I should wait it out and then inspiration would come to me. But what I’ve heard more than once is that everyone had their own medicine.
Holds me in it’s protective grasp
Writers Block is a stubborn creature
But maybe if I tried to fight her
This time I would write at last