"Writer's Block"
Here's a story I'm writing. I'd appreciate any comments, though that's not why I'm posting it. Mostly to keep another record of it.
Writer's Block
She didn't know why, but every time she set her pen to the page, the ideas flew from her mind faster than a flock of birds flushed from a bush. She wracked her brain for a single idea, just something to get her started. After that, she would be fine. She could manage. But nothing came to her. She looked out the window for inspiration; the rolling hills and beautiful landscape normally provided ample inspirations. But not today. No, today there was nothing, not even a lone sheep that the shepherd had left was grazing.
She set the pen down, frustrated with herself and the lack of inspiring things about her. Liz decided she would take a small break, a few minutes--not too long, of course.
She descended the staircase, thinking that maybe a decent lunch was what she needed. But first she switched on the old radio; she didn't have a television, after all. "Mean to Me" was playing. She didn't recognize the singer, though. She snorted. Why did this woman get involved with such a jerk in the first place? Liz knew she would never do something so ridiculous. Although, she didn't have many caller in the countryside where she spent most of her time, she thought as she slathered jelly and peanut butter on the bread. There had been one, she remembered fondly, smiling slightly. It had been so long ago that she hardly remembered the affair at all. But now his face was in her mind: his dark hair and bright blue eyes that were a little too close together; he had a lovely nose that turned up ever so slightly, but not enough to make him look snobbish; his ears, perfectly proportioned to his head. And that smell! Always like sage and thyme. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She could almost smell him.
A loud crash of shattering glass and a thud inches from her plate tore her from her temporary reverie. There was a large black stone on the table in front of her, spinning slightly from the momentum. Liz reached out and grasped it, and with white knuckles and fury in her eyes, she rushed out the door, crunching its broken glass beneath her feet. Three young boys were standing on the nearby hill. Two were howling with laughter, while the third looked panic-stricken at the sight of the raging woman. He pointed, said something to the other two, and they all darted off. Liz didn't care; she was already hot on their trail.
She caught up with the plumpest of the three rather quickly, the third boy who had alerted the other two to her presence. She caught him by the collar of his shirt and, in the fray, found both herself and the boy tumbling to the ground.
"Please don't hurt! Please don't cast a spell on me!" the boy whimpered. He could not have been more than twelve.
Liz narrowed her eyes. She had heard that the children of the town called her a witch, but she never thought any of them actually believed she was one. She sat up, rubbing the dirt off her hands, and then offered a hand to the boy. "Up you get, boy, come on." He didn't move. "Oh, stop, if I were a witch, I would have cursed you already."
"Unless you want to see me suffer and squirm first," he said, pushing himself up without her help. "Well, now you've got me. No point in trying to escape; you'd just catch me again."
Liz nodded. "Yes, you're not as fast as your friends, are you?" She wanted to laugh at the pout on his lips and the way he avoided her gaze, but she forced a stern expression. "I'll make a deal with you." At this, the boy perked up. "If you promise to clean up the mess you and your friends made and repair my window, I won't hex you, and you can go free. How does that sound?"
"I don't have a problem cleaning it up," the boy said quickly. "That's easy. But I don't know a thing about fixing windows. And I don't have the money to pay for it."
"Hm, I suppose you wouldn't have a proper job at your age, would you," she said thoughtfully. "How about this, then: I pay for the window repair and, to make up for it, you help me out with odd jobs around the house." He nodded. "All right, stop by after school tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am."
Writer's Block
She didn't know why, but every time she set her pen to the page, the ideas flew from her mind faster than a flock of birds flushed from a bush. She wracked her brain for a single idea, just something to get her started. After that, she would be fine. She could manage. But nothing came to her. She looked out the window for inspiration; the rolling hills and beautiful landscape normally provided ample inspirations. But not today. No, today there was nothing, not even a lone sheep that the shepherd had left was grazing.
She set the pen down, frustrated with herself and the lack of inspiring things about her. Liz decided she would take a small break, a few minutes--not too long, of course.
She descended the staircase, thinking that maybe a decent lunch was what she needed. But first she switched on the old radio; she didn't have a television, after all. "Mean to Me" was playing. She didn't recognize the singer, though. She snorted. Why did this woman get involved with such a jerk in the first place? Liz knew she would never do something so ridiculous. Although, she didn't have many caller in the countryside where she spent most of her time, she thought as she slathered jelly and peanut butter on the bread. There had been one, she remembered fondly, smiling slightly. It had been so long ago that she hardly remembered the affair at all. But now his face was in her mind: his dark hair and bright blue eyes that were a little too close together; he had a lovely nose that turned up ever so slightly, but not enough to make him look snobbish; his ears, perfectly proportioned to his head. And that smell! Always like sage and thyme. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She could almost smell him.
A loud crash of shattering glass and a thud inches from her plate tore her from her temporary reverie. There was a large black stone on the table in front of her, spinning slightly from the momentum. Liz reached out and grasped it, and with white knuckles and fury in her eyes, she rushed out the door, crunching its broken glass beneath her feet. Three young boys were standing on the nearby hill. Two were howling with laughter, while the third looked panic-stricken at the sight of the raging woman. He pointed, said something to the other two, and they all darted off. Liz didn't care; she was already hot on their trail.
She caught up with the plumpest of the three rather quickly, the third boy who had alerted the other two to her presence. She caught him by the collar of his shirt and, in the fray, found both herself and the boy tumbling to the ground.
"Please don't hurt! Please don't cast a spell on me!" the boy whimpered. He could not have been more than twelve.
Liz narrowed her eyes. She had heard that the children of the town called her a witch, but she never thought any of them actually believed she was one. She sat up, rubbing the dirt off her hands, and then offered a hand to the boy. "Up you get, boy, come on." He didn't move. "Oh, stop, if I were a witch, I would have cursed you already."
"Unless you want to see me suffer and squirm first," he said, pushing himself up without her help. "Well, now you've got me. No point in trying to escape; you'd just catch me again."
Liz nodded. "Yes, you're not as fast as your friends, are you?" She wanted to laugh at the pout on his lips and the way he avoided her gaze, but she forced a stern expression. "I'll make a deal with you." At this, the boy perked up. "If you promise to clean up the mess you and your friends made and repair my window, I won't hex you, and you can go free. How does that sound?"
"I don't have a problem cleaning it up," the boy said quickly. "That's easy. But I don't know a thing about fixing windows. And I don't have the money to pay for it."
"Hm, I suppose you wouldn't have a proper job at your age, would you," she said thoughtfully. "How about this, then: I pay for the window repair and, to make up for it, you help me out with odd jobs around the house." He nodded. "All right, stop by after school tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am."