Whether it’s working on my non-fiction scholarly response to The Hunger Games series, writing poetry, or revising my Master’s thesis, I repeatedly come across that brutal and calloused villain known to all writers: Writer’s Block!
I am bent over my desk, pen in hand, words are sprawling across the page. Yes, I think, this is wonderful. I am getting so much done!
Then, the door is thrown open. Wind fills the room, sweeping up my papers and scattering them across the floor. In he walks, his trenchcoat dripping with rain.
Not this guy again, I think. I try to hide my writing utensils, but it’s too late. He’s already crossed the room and snaps my pencils in half, removes the ink from my pens, and just for good measure, slaps duct tape across my mouth. With a gleeful laugh, he handcuffs my wrists to the arms of my office chair and then leaves the same way he came.
I stare around in dismay at the mess he caused and look down at the blank page he left on my desk just to mock me.
Writer’s Block strikes again.
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