Writer’s Block

He half expected the loose leaves of his lukewarm tea to swirl and present him visions of his story’s next plot point. Speak to me, he thought to his muse. He sat motionless at his desk staring, occasionally dipping a finger in the cup of earl gray. Besides the swishing sound in the cup, all else in his room was silent. Even the purring of his cat, Husky, had gone away. He craned his head and looked at the pillow that Husky always liked to nap. The cat wasn’t there, just a mussed pillow.


“Husky,” he called softly towards the bedroom door. Still nothing.


He looked back at his computer’s blinking cursor. Unconsciously he began to tap his left index finger along with the blinking.


Blink. Blink. Tap. Tap.


Nothing. He was utterly blocked, but it felt more like a black hole at this point. His eyes drifted down the screen.


2:34? A.M.? How long have I been sitting here, he thought. Too long.


The weight of the day made itself apparent in his eyelids. They closed and he blinked them open again. He knew he would never win so he closed his laptop instead, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He stood up and crept across his room muffling each footstep. The scuffed wood floors creaked faintly with each step. In one clunky motion he turned his bedside light off and laid down on his bed. Husky’s pillow was still warm.


Then it came to him: Jordan, his most beloved protagonist would have to die. Not in any cruel G.R.R.M.-inspired way, but it would be tragic. One-by-one, threads of his story began to unknot beautifully in his head– working themselves toward a masterful climax. It happened so clearly that he laid back and watched in his mind’s eye. And, two thoughts occurred to him simultaneously.


I need to get up and write this down.




I’ll remember. I’ll do it tomorrow.
His eyes closed firmly and he began to softly snore. Husky pushed his way into the room and jumped up on the bed to nuzzle. Tomorrow came, but left the inspiration behind.  


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