Thursday, September 28, 2017

Writer's Block

Writer's Block
By Michael Cannata  

His mind was a complete blank. He had nothing! This wasn't a usual case of writers block. He hadn't had a new idea for a story in months. Everything he tried to write about seemed old… rehashed. All the stories just seemed to be a different version of the same worn out tale.

If it wasn't a mundane, good vs. evil story, it was an equally banal, boy meets girl piece. He tried to write something upbeat, but he sucked at that kind of tale. He hated happy endings. He liked sad, desperately horrible endings! He'd made his reputation as a horror writer. People expected to be scared breathless by his work. Lately, his work was more like comedy… with evil characters that started out well, but soon turned into amusing caricatures of evil; more laughable than loathsome.

He had fame and fortune, and yet, none of that mattered. It was the creative drive that had carried him this far. He'd never felt so bereft of ideas in his life. He felt like taking an axe to someone just for inspiration. Then, suddenly, it came to him! Maybe stepping into his characters role in a more personal way would get his muse talking again.

Rather than create a character, maybe he should become one! Instead of imagining what a homicidal impulse felt like, perhaps experiencing one would help sharpen his senses; pull him deeper into the psyche! He'd concealed the small hatchet under his jacket and went into town late last night to research his idea.

He didn't know her name until he read it in the paper the next day. Her death was gruesome to everyone, except him. For him, it was nothing but pure inspiration. He grew excited again as he remembered how it felt when he struck her from behind. She never saw it coming. Touching the axe, he vividly recalled every movement, every twitch, every hair that flew away with the force of the blow. The warmth of the blood as it splashed on his face was exhilarating.

There was only one thing left to do. Admit it. He was finished as a writer. He at least owed his fans some sort of explanation. He'd found a new calling in life. He couldn't wait to tell his own tale. He sat at the keyboard and began typing.

"My mind was a complete blank…"

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