Writer’s Block

by Anon

“You wake up and your shoes don’t fit.”

I swirl my latte, watching the cocoa dusting fracture and split. “No, nothing.”

Jordan smiles patiently. “Not even a flicker? We just need to ignite an idea.”

“Nothing,” I sigh.

“Two blueberries fall into your soup.”

I shake my head.

“You befriend a squirrel in a park.”


“You didn’t even consider that. I know it’s hard, but you signed a contract and have a commitment to produce a third novel.”

“I can’t do it. My readers embraced a fantasy I created, and now they crave a mundanity I can’t deliver.”

“You can still tell stories. People enjoy your writing, whatever the genre.”

My finger vacantly sketches a sword in a coffee spill. Jordan places her hand on mine, smearing the doodle.

“You meet a lady in a bakery.”

“Definitely not.”

“Think about it,” she says, finishing her iced tea and standing to leave, “and write something.”

“I’ll try.”

With a smile, she mounts her battle-bike and revs the formidable engine. The gatling gun whines as she fades into the horizon. In the distance I hear a dragon roar, followed by rattling gunfire.

“I befriend a squirrel…” I murmur, sipping my latte.

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