Writers block often visits me in these middle days of
spring. Sitting at my
desk with the instruments of my trade at hand, I stare out the open
window letting my mind wander and scamper about with nesting
birds and skipping
squirrels.
Through the open window I can smell the rich
loamy after effects of a sweet
morning rain. It's difficult to think of anything except
the wonders of nature at a time like this, this time when writers block so often visits. I keep it on my desk next to the
mallard decoy I received as a gift from my
niece.
I learned early on that its hard corners easily scratched the delicate
wood of my desktop. At first I simply set it on a book or a stack of completed
manuscript, but often as not it would fall over and eventually scar the aged
pine.
It was just last year that I started keeping it in a
Crown Royal bag. The soft purple bag was just the right size to hold my writers block and prevented any unsightly furniture damage.
These days of spring when it gets me the worst I keep it close so that I can softly stroke the
supple purple fabric in one hand and absently twirl my pen in the other. I sit in my chair and wait.
I watch the squirrels. I smell the
earth. I listen to traffic go by. I rarely get any productive writing done in these days of spring.
I wait, I watch, and
I think. All the time, my block is with me, and the next time those
punk kids try to
toilet paper my tree, I'll be ready for them. Right out the front window from my old
office chair, I'll
bludgeon one of those trespassing little
bastards with my writer’s block.
If you don't think I won't, you’re welcome to sit on the
sofa next to me, and wait, in these days of spring.