Writer’s Block: A Scene

Posted on August 2, 2017


The cursor blinks as another minute passes. I take another sip of coffee. The rain pours outside as I check social media. People are either angry at something or bragging about their life. Everything’s crap. I try to get my brain working. I put a nice tune on loop. I read to get some ideas. I play some generic game to stall.

Another minute passes.


Another day passes.


Another headache comes and goes. At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s from meds withdrawal, lack of sleep, or staring at a laptop for prolonged periods of time. Then, I sleep it off because I know my writing will be crap if my physical state is just as crappy.

And then the cycle continues.

I wake up late, and so begins another day of trying to write some career-changing thing. I want to write something so career-changing that I can finally establish myself as a “real” writer and not just someone who helps companies get massive clicks. And then I’ll share my career-changing thing on social media to be marveled at by estranged relatives and high school bullies alike. Some stranger will reach out and tell me how they felt alone until they read my piece. I’ve established my place in society. I’m finally at peace.

The cursor blinks again.

And again. And again. And again.

It’s funny how I can write 140-character quips all day and not get any ideas for something career-changing. I rushed my workload just to get a long writing break and all I did was play Candy Crush and binge-watch some shows. And they say being a freelance writer is easy.

They think it’s all about lying around at home all day and telling people How To Get Flawless Skin With Some Magic Pill. Nah man, it’s also about staring at a stark white screen squeezing your brain for something that you think is worth telling millions of strangers about. If it goes well, it will land you a Stable Writing Job that pays a hundred times more than any of your writing gigs. And then a book deal. I guess it really does take a certain amount of hubris to be a writer.

Thank you, Satan, for inventing writer’s block. Nothing ruins someone so much as a near-impossible fantasy.

The cursor blinks once more, and I snap back to reality. I write a short rant on writing just to get me in the mood to write something else.

Another minute passes. My coffee mug is empty.

I stare at whatever I wrote, and tell myself that this is all I can contribute to society for now.

And then I hope it’s enough.