Writer's Block

Writer’s Block

It’s a tragic tale of writer’s block. At first glanced it’s a closed door, a small barrier between something you once loved deeply to something that transforms into fear. The kind that follows you around, but no one can see or understand but you. The door is locked, and the key is missing. You panic because it was your responsibility to keep up with it. Others had tried to help you find the key but eventually came up empty handed. The need to hurry fades, you forget where to look because it has been so long since you saw it. Time becomes the enemy. Continuing to look feels like torture because you forget where you last seen it. Remembering what it felt like to have what’s on the other side of the door because it only initiates a little excitement. The love you have for your passion speaks volume. It’s that special spark that lives within your subconscious, a small piece of your soul that defines your existence. It’s that soft place that only belongs to you, no one can replicate it because there is no other like you. Your passion is specifically designed to fit the individual.

In a stuffy lounge establishment, a woman sits alone staring down at her watch without a face. With chip nails and blurry vision, she asks for another drink. It appears and she begins to sip on it. The room is suffocating and small. Dark and usually gloomy but it felt familiar. She looked around the room and notice off in the corner another woman sitting alone. Something about her was mesmerizing and her scent was strong. It reminded the first woman of something from her past. A childhood memory of a time when her creative juices flowed so fluently. Without much hesitation the first woman moved towards the mysterious woman. The first woman askes” do you mind if I sit here,” Pointing to the chair closest to her. The second lady respond” not at all I was expecting you.” The first women confused but managed to say” expecting me, no, not me I’m sorry you must have me confused. It wasn’t my intention of being here tonight. How could you be expecting me? When I don’t even know you? The second woman just smiles. The smile was off putting, and her eyes were dark. As if she was hiding something.

Please sit and I’ll explain, the second woman motioned for the first woman to sit. The first did as she was told. The two women talked and talked for what seemed like hours. The first woman notices small details of the bar that belong to her past. There above the mysterious woman was a painting of a little girl and her grandmother. The first woman knew instantly it was her own grandmother and the child was her. That picture was never taken but it was a memory. A memory she cherished everyday of her life. Her grandmother was an excentric woman, free spirited and colorful. Her grandmother loved to paint and could find beauty in any situation or person. Another painting was of her and her father on a fishing trip. She remembers that day as if it was yesterday. It was their first fishing trip together. Another painting was of her, and her mother planting seeds in the garden. Her mother had a natural ability to grow plants, vegetables and flowers. The first woman shook her head and reached for her glass, but it wasn’t there. Nor where the paintings or a bar area. The first woman begins to panic and nervously looked up at the second woman. “Who are you? “Oneiroi. The second woman said calmly. Leaning back in her chair. Her eyes were fixated on the first woman every move. “Oneiroi, hum what an interesting name”. The name echoed through the first woman thoughts. Something about the name was pressing down on her making her body feel heavy.

The first woman feeling overwhelmed got up and headed towards the door. Her steps were slow and became more intense the more she moved. Annoyed she looked down and she saw that the floor had water up to her knees. The water was rising quickly. She rushed and tried to swim to the door. To her surprise the harder she tried to escape the farther away the door became. Now she is exhausted, her body begins to sink but she wasn’t drowning. Just floating endlessly in a room, she thought it was a lounge. She closed her eyes and seconds later she was outside. Standing alone on a pier in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by the ocean and nothing else. A light mist takes over and cold rain drops hit the woman skin sporadically. The woman heard a voice but could not pinpoint where the voice was coming from but hit her. “Hello, is anyone out there, I can barely hear you, I’m lost and need help finding my way home.” She turned around and lost her balance and slid down a slope alongside her was as a child. A young girl in a pink dress holding a toy horse with an expression of pure joy on her face. That look on her face was one she had not felt in years. For a moment it put a smile on her face. The two landed feet first onto a field of wildflowers. All smiles and sweet laughter until they caught the wind of someone chasing them. Eventually the young got tired and couldn’t continue the run. “Go on without me” the young girl screamed, “no”, the woman yelled back I will not leave you behind. The young girl responded back saying “but you already have”. Seconds later the young girl was gone. The field of flowers began to die and shifted to a place of darkness. A man walks past her without making eye contact. The woman grabbed for the man’s arm and caught the tips of his fingers. It was enough to stop the man in his track’s, so he turned to look at her. She felt like she knew him but couldn't see all his features very well as if they were fading.

The man had sorrowful eyes, the kind that had seen more than his fair share to remain hopeful. The man’s voice was low and husky. “Your honor my client would like to take the stand”. The woman quickly notice she was in courtroom and the guy was her defense attorney. The judge a hard face woman who spoke with authority took one look at the woman and paused before speaking. “I will allow it”. All twelve jurors gasped as well as a few people that were seated in the courtroom. The courtroom was cold, and the energy came across as a death sentence. It was obvious the prosecutor was out for blood and wanted to prove the woman’s guilt. The woman confused unsure of what led her to this predicament. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. The prosecutor accused the woman of child abuse and neglect. “Isn’t it true you abandoned a young girl that depended solely on you, isn’t it true you walked away one day and did not look back”? The woman begins to hyperventilate “no I wouldn’t leave a child behind.” The prosecutor shook his head. “Your honor I have no further questions.” Just then the door opened and the same little girl from earlier appeared wearing the same pink dress. Holding a horse in one hand and a frown on her face. Every eye in the court room turns to look at the girl. The little girl pointed at the woman. “She left me” echoed throughout the court room and added to the pain the woman was already feeling. “You forgot about me;” the whole court room begins to chant “you forgot about me”. The woman looked around and met everyone’s eyes. She heard everyone voice repeating the phrase “you forgot about me and left me”. The judge finally changed her tune and demanded order. “Order in court,” the judge slammed her gavel against desk, asking the jury if they have come to a verdict. Each one nodded with agreement. The verdict was in, and the woman was found guilty.” I sentence you to life without the possibility of parole.” There was nothing the woman could do but accept her fate. Her attorney with those sorrowful eyes faced the woman and poured out his feelings of sympathy and deepest condolences for her situation. “I am sorry I could not do more.” Do you think my punishment fit the crime and what will become of me now?” Her attorney replied “Well, I am not sure, but I do know when you give up on the things that make you, you, a part of you dies.” “When you forget about the simple things in life that once brought you joy. “And try to cover it up. you leave behind a special piece of yourself.” But by letting your imagination run free without any barriers you can rediscover your own magic. The woman begins to fade but she could still hear her inner child saying, “I’m still here.”

The woman’s eyes shot open, realizing she was in her own head. It was all just a dream. She mumbles under her breath. Relieved it was just a dream the woman needed answers. To her surprise she was pulling up to her childhood home. Her husband placed his hand over her knee. Looking over at her with those sorrowful eyes, “Surprise, I know you been having a bit of writer’s block, so I wanted to cheer you and remind you why you started writing in the first place.” It was like a scene from the movies. In front of the house her mom was outside in her garden, her father walking out the door with his fishing gear. After all those years her parents never gave up on the things they loved. Her mom wiped her hands on her shirt, and her father laid his gear down. Both parents met the woman with a smile. The woman, her husband, and parents went inside and begin reminiscing over past experiences. The woman notices on the coffee table lay one of her grandmother’s favorite books. A book about Greek mythology. “What is this doing here”. The woman curiosity was heightened. “Oh, we were going through your grandmother things and found it and thought you may want to take it home with you.” The woman picked up the book and turned to the page where a bookmark was sticking out. She opened it and it was on the section of Oneiroi. A god of personification of dreams. There was a picture of the woman when she was a little girl in a pink dress holding a horse. Her mom asked to see the photo and giggled when she saw it “oh I remember this day; you were so excited to visit your grandma for the summer. “You couldn’t wait to tell your grandma one of your latest stories. “You would always tell me in a sassy, one hand on your hip attitude.” “You know what momma one day my stories are going to change the world.” You had such a wild imagination as a child”. Her dad chuckle “such the storyteller”.

Later, that night the woman was helping her mother prepare dinner when she asked her mom a question about dreams and their meaning. The mother took a minute to answer.” I believe dreams come from your subconscious and trying to get your waking self-attention by producing images that directly influence the dreamer. The woman thought about what her mom said about dreams. She begins to tell her mom about her dream and her mother just listens. “Mom, do you think my dream was trying to tell me something or do you think it was all just a dream.” “Which doesn’t really mean anything.” The mother responded by saying “I think it’s up to the dreamer.” The next day the woman ponders over the message from her dream. Recognizing the dream was the missing element and the key to undue her writer’s block. She eagerly picks up a pen and was inspired to begin to write.

The End