A Writer's Block

Until then, Brice Darrow would keep doing what he did best.

The End.

I smiled, my heart filling with a rush of excitement. I just finished writing my first novel at 11:58 pm on December 31, 2019!

It had taken me twelve months to write, but I finally did it! And, at eighty-four thousand words, my baby wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

I stood up from my chair, waddling to the refrigerator for a can of pop. I waddled because I’m overweight.—overweight by at least thirty-eight pounds. The thing was, I had gained most of my excess weight just this year alone. Sitting on my ass all night, laboriously typing my manuscript most evenings after work turned me into a chair potato. Even at work, I sat. A lot. It wasn’t fun, especially when I hated my job.

I chucked down the pop, throwing the empty can in the sink. My kitchen was a mess. The last time I cleaned it was—I glanced at the clock on the microwave—Sometime last year now.

The floor felt grimy beneath my feet. The countertops were littered with old takeaway containers, dirty dishes, and cups. I opened the pantry closet for a bag of chips and felt my heart sink when I found none.

That’s another thing. I haven’t found the time to run to the grocery store in months. Uber Eats has been my go-to for quite some time. I’ve wanted to eat healthier for a while, but it didn’t happen.

I waddled into my tiny bedroom, made more cramped by the foldable treadmill. Foldable was a joke. It was supposed to fold but didn’t. The hinges always got stuck. I had bought it online earlier last year and meant to return it, but the return window had expired before I got the chance. Now I’m stuck with it and mostly use it as a clothes rack. It was supposed to encourage me to exercise. Another thing that didn’t happen.

On my bed, I pulled out my phone from my pocket. An iPhone 6. So old now. I’ve been dying to get an iPhone 11 for months now, but I’ve been too busy. Too poor. 

Scrolling through my contacts. I wanted to tell someone that I’ve finished writing my novel. But I didn’t have many friends, and the friends I do have, I’ve alienated. Alienated because of my writing.

I sighed, tossing the phone on the mattress. It slid and fell behind me, somewhere between the wall and bed frame. Ugh!

I closed my eyes. Perhaps I should go to sleep. Forget everything. I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. Even melatonin hasn’t worked for me. And, I should be out celebrating, right? How many people could say they’ve actually written a novel? But there is no one to celebrate my success with. Last year, I had hoped to find a girlfriend. Even a female for a friend would’ve been nice. But I’m shy, not very attractive. I haven’t had a girlfriend in years.

My phone pinged under the bed. I huffed out a breath, rolling over on the mattress. It was probably my mom checking up on me. Or perhaps my brother, Kurt.

I reached over the edge of the bed, my fingers searching for the phone. It finds something. Some old piece of mail or a flyer. I brought my hand up and saw a list. It was in my handwriting. It read:

Goals for 2019:

Lose 40 pounds

Exercise more

Eat healthier

Keep apartment clean

Get more sleep

Find a new job

Get a new phone

Spend time with friends

Find a girlfriend

Write a novel

I shook my head. I’d written ten goals last year and only managed to accomplish one of them!

I stared at the list for a long time, trying to decipher where I went wrong. My phone pinged again. This time I crawled off the bed and flattened myself on the floor beside it. Then I stretched my arm under the bed and managed to slide the phone towards me with my fingertips.

Standing, I wiped a little sweat from my forehead. I really needed to get in shape!

I glanced down at the two messages on my phone—one from Mom, another from Kurt. At least a couple of people cared about me. I smiled a little, taking a pen out of my pocket.

On the list, I crossed off the year 2019 and wrote 2020 next to it. Then on the last entry, I crossed off the words a novel and wrote 2nd novel.

Where do I start?

I called my mom and Kurt back. They were elated that I finished my novel. After a long talk with each of them, I felt great—like I could accomplish anything.

I went into the kitchen and started cleaning stuff up. My mind raced with new ideas for another novel. The ideas were so exciting that I rushed into my office and plopped my ass down on the chair. Before I knew it, my fingers were flying over the keyboard.

My phone pinged. I looked at the screen. A message from Stacey, my lonely next door neighbor.

She’ll have to wait.