Blocked, stopped, worked to death…
the words won’t flow, those muscles don’t flex.
This story won’t write alone,
but I’m all undone.
This poetry is all that can be..
and it isn’t all that at all!
“Mr. Walker, what is this?”
Uhoh, Mrs. Temple did not look amused at his little diddy. “It looks like a piece of paper boss. Are you trying to pull one over on me?” Mark smirked, hoping his cuteness would soothe her some. It didn’t.
“Mister Walker I hired you because you promised that you could deliver for me, articles AND creative writing bits.”
“Yes ma’am, I can. I did hand in a piece already today.”
“This drivel? It doesn’t even work within itself. I would not publish this in the children’s work section!” Mrs. Temple’s right temple began to noticeably throb beneath her almost colorless hair. “I have read your work and you, little sass bucket, are a genius with words WHEN YOU PUT YOUR WORK IN TO IT! Now go do the time!”
“Yes Ma’am,” Mark hung his head and shuffled back to his desk, hiding the smirk that played across his lips. His new short story wasn’t playing nice and Mrs. Temple didn’t hand out extensions for writer’s block. He was really starting to understand how to deal with the old bat..OLD BAT! That was it…his fingers began to move across the keypad, he had it! No more writer’s block for him! WOOHoooooh never mind, that was only good for three sentences. Why did he ever promise her that he could do it?
Mark dropped his head in his hands and moaned, once old Temple finally figured out what a fraud he was, she would call his Grandma and gossip about it. Once Grandma learned how useless her little angel face was, he would lose out on everything. She would be so disappointed and there went the advanced degree program and the beach vacation.,..THAT’S IT! EVERYTHING IS TAKEN AWAY, YES!!
Fingers flying, head spinning, Mark dove into this new twist to his story. Twenty minutes later his proud chest began to deflate…he had gotten the main character right up to the final, pivotal moment in the story and that was it. No more to be said, no ending…say hello to writer’s block Marky boy.
Back and forth he went, all day, sitting at his desk berating himself between moments of genius. But finally, FINALLY, with the clock tick-tocking accusatorily behind him, Mark printed up the final piece. Proudly he stepped into Mrs. Temples office to turn in his writer’s block masterpiece.
“Hello Angel Face! We were just talking about you.”