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Writer's Block (standard:humor, 634 words)
Author: Reid LaurenceAdded: Dec 07 2006Views/Reads: 2158/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
How best do I describe a story that reveals the truth on a subject that no one wants to think about for fear it might happen to them? It's like trying to describe a bad cold to a person who wants no part of it, but it happens sometimes and who knows, you

Searching my mind, questioning myself repeatedly for something to write
about, I knew I'd reached my first dead end in the field of creative 
writing. I couldn't even think of a bad story, let alone a good one. I 
tired of putting down the President and figured that was all behind me, 
and weary also of imagining myself as someone else - caught up in some 
strange, impossible situation - I was about to put my pen down forever 
when lo and behold, who should walk past me on her way to school but my 
darling daughter, Natalie... 

“Wha'cha do'in?” she asked, as she's sometimes prone to do. But after a
moment where I offered no reply, gazing out the window, deep in thought 
over the weight of snow which had bent a shrub to one side on our lawn, 
she enquired, “What's a matter, cat got your tongue?” 

About to reply by asking her, ‘Which one? Take your pick', I hesitated
before answering. The way I saw it, we had five to choose from - some 
indoor and some outdoor - any of whom could have been held responsible 
for my condition, so the question, taken literally, wasn't all that 
simple to resolve, but figuratively, the reply was as easy as two plus 
two. “Yes,” I responded. “One of the cat's has my damn tongue and I 
can't think of anything to write.” 

“Well don't let it out on me,” replied my daughter. “I was only asking.
Writer's block happens sometimes. You'll think of something, don't 

“I don't know Nat, I think the well just ran dry on me. I haven't felt
this speechless in a long time. Not since your mom caught me looking at 
internet porn anyhow. Man, that was a bad day. Whaddaya think pissed 
her off so much anyway? It's just some boobs an butts.” 

“To you it is,” answered Natalie. “But not to mom. You outta know that
by now dad.” 

“I don't know Nat,” I said disparagingly. “You know I'm not the
brightest light in the chandelier. Besides, I'm only human ya know.” 

“I know,” she added, but not wanting to broach the subject of my
voyeurism, she continued by changing the subject, and suggesting that I 
think about something festive and cheerful, she remarked, “but after 
all, with Christmas on the way, there must be a lot of things you can 
think of to write about. Look at all the history behind it.” 

“That's true,” I replied. “But Dan Brown already answered every dang
question about God and Jesus. There's nothing left to talk about now. 
The Davinci Code was the solution to all our problems. Now there's no 
question in our minds concerning who to kill or who to leave alone. We 
all owe him a big thanks if you ask me, but I still don't know what to 
write about.” 

“Look on the bright side dad. I know you'll think of something. I'm late
for school now, but I bet by the time I get back, you'll have something 
down on paper.” 

“I hope you're right Nat,” I said. “Anyhow, have a good day.” But as
soon as she walked out the door, it was as if she'd taken with her 
every creative thought known to the human race, and once again I was 
left alone to ponder the bent branches of the snow laden shrub just 
outside my window. Maybe I'll think of something worthwhile tomorrow, I 
thought. Then again, maybe I won't. But what the heck, I can't change 
the world anyway. Not unlike the Holy Trinity, only Dan Brown, 
President Bush and God have the power to do that. The rest of us are 
just casual observers, left alone here to look out our windows and 
wonder what to think. 


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