Writer's Block

Flakes of snow dance down outside my window in a hypnotic pattern.

I’ve always liked the snow.

Giving my head a shake, I shift my focus back to the blank page on my laptop.

Focus.

The publisher wants progress, but honestly, the stress isn’t helping. If I just submit something, maybe I can buy myself more time.

It’s been weeks since I wrote anything of substance. This writer’s block is killing me, and the old tricks aren’t cutting it. No matter what I do, trying to get words on paper is like pulling teeth.

DING DONG

The chime from the intercom startles me, causing me to slosh coffee over my lap.

“Dammit,” I mumble before setting the mug down and wading my way through my living room, carefully avoiding the trash and empty bottles. I need a cleaning lady.

First, I need to sell this damn book.

“Yes, who is it?” I asked into the intercom.

“Delivery for Mr. Erik Barlow,” replies the crackly voice.

“Finally,” I say to myself, already on my way out the door.

One signature, and a jog up and down the stairs later, I’m back in my apartment with a black cardboard box.

Cutting the tape and removing the contents with something just short of reverence, I turn my salvation over in my hands.

The MDNS Neurostimulator.

Apparently, it’s all the rage in Japan. For its $2500 price tag, it looks like nothing more than a high-tech headband, all black plastic and LED lights.

According to the website and a bunch of jargon I honestly don’t understand, the device is supposed to stimulate the parts of your brain meant for creativity and imagination.

Desperate as I am, I sprung for the ‘Writer’s Suite’, which boasts an AI sounding board, and a few other bells and whistles.

Settling back down at my desk, I carefully affix the sleek headset and brace myself for… I’m not sure.

After a few seconds, a small haptic buzz precedes a soft, feminine voice. “Hello, Erik. My name is Mana. I have been configured with settings input online during purchase. If you would like to change these settings, please do so from our convenient online portal.”

Adjusting the headset, I swivel my chair toward my keyboard. Time for the magic to happen.

Half an hour later, there is a distinct lack of magic as I continue to stare at the blank page.

“This is so frustrating,” I growl, leaning back in my chair.

“Would you like to discuss it?” Chimes the friendly voice of Mana. The speakers on the headset create the illusion that she is standing over my shoulder.

“Well,” I sigh. “The hook that sold the publishers was a horror story, from the perspective of the monster. Basically a bad-guy protagonist with a supernatural twist.”

There’s a pause before the AI starts speaking. “Studies have shown that life experience can be a source of inspiration. Have you heard the saying ‘write what you know’?”

Standing up with a grunt, I waddle towards the fridge, my legs stiff. “Listen, Mana. The story is about a seven-foot-tall, man-eating creature, masquerading as a human.”

I grab a beer and take a long swig. “Not something a person has life experience with.”

“Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help,” Mara offers cheerfully.

“Couldn’t hurt,” I concede before polishing off the beer.

It’s still pretty early, but I never say no to a good nap.

The nightmare wakes me with a start. Already, the details are slipping from my mind like water through my fingers, but in their wake, inspiration is blossoming.

I have no idea if the MDNS was responsible, but for the first time in forever, I’m brimming with ideas.

“Hello Erik,” Mana says softly as I power on the headset.

“Hey Mana. I got some great ideas. Let’s get to work!”

My fingers dance across the keyboard as the words start to flow.

“Studies have shown that prolonged sessions of writing can lead to burnout, and in turn, have an adverse effect on the creative process.”

Mana’s voice startles me from my trance-like state.

My mouth is dry, and so are my eyes, for that matter. I check my phone while rubbing them with the heel of my off-hand.

12:32 AM.

I’ve been writing for hours!

As if on cue, my stomach lets out an angry rumble.

“Studies have shown that maintaining a proper diet and exercise are important for mental elasticity,” Mana provides in a helpful tone.

“Gee, thanks”, I reply dryly. “Guess I’ll walk to the corner store.” There’s no point checking the fridge. The closest thing to food in there is a half bottle of ketchup.

The store isn’t much to look at, but they have hot food even at this hour.

Armed with a hot dog, I head towards the corner to grab a soda from the cooler.

The place is a ghost town, except for the young guy staring at his phone behind the counter. I hope he enjoys the lull, because when the pub down the street lets out after last call, this place will be crammed with drunks.

Rounding the corner, movement catches my eye in the anti-shoplifting mirror above me. Guess there’s someone else in here after all.

The other customer must have ducked behind some shelves, as there’s no sign of them when I glance over my shoulder.

Or my imagination is playing tricks on me.

Juggling my snack, I fetch my drink from the cooler, and let the door fall closed on its own.

My heart leaps into my throat before I can scream.

The reflection in the glass reveals a tall figure standing just behind me.

I spin to face the creep, brandishing my newly acquired cola… but no one is there.

“What the hell?” I blurt out louder than I was expecting.

“Can I help you, buddy?” The clerk asks, not masking his annoyance.

“Sorry,” I reply, hurrying towards the till. “Did you see someone else in here just a minute ago?”

The young guy looks at me for a few seconds before his eyes flick towards the top of my head. “Nope. Just you and your weird hat.”

Instinctively, my hands touch my forehead.

I’m still wearing the MDNS.

Tapping my card against the terminal, I hustle out of the store with my goods, feeling just a touch embarrassed.

It only takes a few minutes to walk home, the sidewalks devoid of people and mostly clear of snow.

Stuck outside my door, I fumble for my keys while trying to juggle my ‘dog and cola.

“Need a hand?” A familiar voice says quietly.

“Hey Kathy,” I say, turning to face my neighbour. Kathy is great. Probably a good twenty years older than me, and despite being a little nosy, she’s incredibly sweet.

“Erik,” she acknowledges with a smile. “Now I won’t be fishing around in your pocket, but I suppose I can hold your food for you.”

Her eyes linger on the MDNS still on my head, but she doesn’t say anything.

With the assist, I make short work of my deadbolt, say goodnight and slip inside with my ‘dog and cola.

After kicking the door closed behind me, I set my goods on the table and finally remove the headset. It’s so lightweight and comfy, it’s easy to forget the darn thing is there.

Flopping down in a chair, I inhale my food, then shamble towards my bed like a zombie.

Mana was right. Burnout is real, and I’m making good progress. There’s no reason to put myself through the wringer.

My bed feels extra comfortable as I drift off to sleep.

The nightmare wakes me with a start. It feels familiar. Perhaps the same nightmare as last time, but the details are already lost to the haze.

The morning sun is beaming right into my face, adding more annoyance to the abrupt awakening.

Wait.

Sitting up, I’m greeted by my living room. Not my bedroom, where I definitely went to sleep last night.

And the living room is clean. Like the smell of lemon-freshness and everything. There’s not a bottle or old takeout container in sight.

What the hell?

“Good morning, Erik,” Mana chimes cheerily behind me. No, not behind me.

Bolting to my feet, I pull the MDNS off my head and toss it back onto the couch.

Why was I wearing that in my sleep?

Did I sleepwalk? Sleep clean?

I haven’t sleepwalked since I was a kid.

“Erik,” Mana says in that same cheery voice. “The deadline we spoke of is coming up fast. Perhaps you would like to continue writing?”

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble. “Thanks, Mana. I think I’m gonna go old school today.”

I already have some great ideas, so I throw the MDNS on the charger, get a pot of coffee brewing, then park myself at the keyboard.

The day flies past in a blur; a frenzy of caffeine-fueled creativity.

With a feeling of immense satisfaction, I click save and close my laptop. The book’s not finished quite yet, but this should buy me plenty of time.

It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

“I think it’s time to celebrate,” I announce to my now-clean apartment.

I’m not much of a drinker, and it’s still pretty early, but a pint down at the local pub sounds perfect.

Fifteen minutes later, the sounds of 80’s rock blaring on a jukebox greet me as I duck into the bar. It’s pretty slow given the hour, so I find a seat at the bar easy enough.

The bartender, an older, heavy-set man with a robust beard, takes one look at me and shakes his head.

“You have to be kidding me,” he says, sounding exasperated. “You must have a death wish.”

Confused, I narrow my eyes, then glance behind me just to be sure. “Sorry. Are you talking to me?”

Suddenly, a baseball bat appears on the bar, gripped in his meaty hand. “You’re lucky I don’t break your legs after that crap you pulled last night, Mr. White.”

Scrambling to my feet, I throw my hands in the air. “There’s gotta be some confusion. I wasn’t here last night, and my name isn’t White.”

The burly man points the wooden bat at my head. “You might have taken off that stupid plastic headband, but I don’t forget a face.” He shoves the bat into my chest. “Now get out!”

Frantically, I backpedal before turning and sprinting out the door.

What is going on?

Spilling out into the street, I spot a tall man staring at me across the way.

Someone else I pissed off while sleepwalking?

Turning away, I rush home at a jog, almost slipping twice on ice hidden beneath a fresh skiff of snow. At least the menacing stranger doesn’t seem to be following.

Flying up the stairs, I slam my door behind me, then flop on the couch.

My breath is coming hard and fast, and not just from the exertion.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me, and I stumble to my desk. Flipping open my laptop, I open the chapters I wrote yesterday.

‘This place is filthy. I can’t abide filth. The previous occupant was little more than a swine masquerading as a man.’

“What the hell?” I say aloud before skimming back further.

‘The pub reeks of humanity. Of their sin and hubris. But it’s the perfect hunting ground to pluck one of these imperfect creatures for my harvest.

A waitress, pretty, if a little older, smiles at me. If only she knew that she was a lamb smiling at a wolf.

She looks delicious…’

Standing up, I push myself away from the desk.

“What the actual hell!?”

This is not what I wrote.

Suddenly, there’s movement to my left.

Spinning toward my window, I see the same man from the street. He’s standing on the fire escape, staring at me through my window.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” I shout while backing away.

My floor lamp crashes to the ground behind me, tripping me up.

Stumbling like a drunkard, I turn back to the window.

The man is gone.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I damn near jump out of my skin.

Someone’s at the door.

Cautiously, I creep forward, but before I can make it halfway, Kathy’s muffled voice carries through the door.

“Erik, are you alright? I heard a shout and a crash while I was walking by.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself before cracking open the door. “Hey, Kathy,” I chuckle, running a hand through my hair. “Sorry about that. I thought I saw something out my window, and knocked over my lamp like an idiot. I guess I’m just jumpy.”

Armed with a bag of groceries, she gives me a critical look and purses her lips. “Well, I’m not surprised. In and out of your apartment all night and all morning. You need to get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Kathy,” I reply with a smile. “I was just about to lie down.”

She gives me a long look again. “Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Will do. Thanks again. Have a good night.”

Gently closing my door, I hurry over to the window. There’s no sign of a mysterious stranger, and not a single footprint in the light dusting of snow.

“That’s it,” I declare to no one in particular.

Stomping over, I grab the MDNS off the charger.

“This nonsense all started with you,” I growl, shaking the expensive device.

“Hello Erik,” chimes Mana. “Are you ready to start writing?”

“Sorry Mana,” I mumble, as I fetch my hammer from a drawer in the kitchen. “I no longer require your services.”

Bringing the hammer down on the plastic headband several times, it’s soon little more than scattered debris.

As the LED lights fade to black, a sense of tension melts away, and I feel lighter somehow.

I really am tired.

Dropping the hammer on the table, I shuffle to my room and pour myself into bed.

The buzzing of my phone rouses me from my sleep.

It takes a few moments for my sleep-addled brain to realize something is wrong.

Judging by the fact, I’m sitting at my desk, it’s pretty clear I was sleepwalking again.

My phone continues to buzz incessantly.

The publisher is calling.

Damn.

Swiping the phone, I answer and tap the speakerphone button.

“Hey Linda,” I say groggily, closing my eyes again.

“Erik,” she cries out, sounding far too excited. “You beautiful genius.”

“Uhh, thanks. Listen about those chapters….” I start.

“…They were great!” She interjects, cutting me off. “At first, I wasn’t sure about the tweaking of the monster to something more mundane, but it works!”

Scratching my head, it takes a second to click.

“I sent you those chapters?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Obviously,” Linda retorts with a laugh. “This could be your best work yet. That protagonist, Mr. White, is scary as all hell. And of course, I’m a sucker for a man who likes to clean.”

She laughs again, but my mood is getting worse by the second. Grogginess giving way to dread.

Truly opening my eyes for the first time, my eyes settle on an object sitting on my table.

“But Erik, honey,” Linda says softly. “We need to talk about that last chapter.”

Oh no.

She continues, but I’m hardly paying attention. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s good. Very good.” There’s a pause before she continues. “But when Mr. White kills the neighbour lady, what was her name? Catherine? Anyway. That was a touch too graphic. Even for our audience.”

Some advice Mana gave me on that first day comes to mind, as I stare down at my hammer, spattered with blood.

“Write what you know.”