Fizzy Block

“It’s not that I have writer’s block, exactly, it’s that my creative mind went on vacation without asking me first,” she grumbled.

She sat at her desk and stared at the blank screen before her. It should have hundreds of words on it by now–okay, okay, dozens. At least one or two!

She blew a forceful breath from her mouth, rippling her bangs across her forehead, and leaned back against the headrest. No inspiration on the boringly bland white ceiling above her.

Wait: a sound! A soft ticking amidst the constant white noise of her technologically  heavy life. She sat up straight and looked around until her eyes lip on the can of ginger ale just to the left of her keyboard. Is it possible to write a story about carbon dioxide escaping solution?

She laughed at the idea. No way!


Ten Minutes

Tonight, I got nothing. So I set a timer for ten minutes, and we’ll see what we get.

We went to a philosophy group meeting earlier tonight. I wasn’t up for writing about it because it’s late and I have to get up early, but I will tomorrow. And it will be entertaining.

I did warn them, when we were going around the room introducing ourselves. I’m a writer, I’m just here for fodder.

I meant it, but I had no idea what I was getting into.

In other news, I have to figure out what I’m going to do for my brother’s graduation next month. Someone, either my brother or my mother, initially gave us the wrong date, and now that we know the right date, it’s too late for Ian to get someone to work for him, so he can’t go.

I’m not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. No special reason, just don’t wanna. You know? Bleh.

What else? I’m going to make jello shots this weekend with some chocolate covered pretzel vodka. Surprise, Ian! He didn’t know about this. I have to figure out what to mix it with, though. Any suggestions? Maybe chocolate soda. I don’t know if I can still find that at the store.

Here’s some news. I’m ghostwriting a book. It’ll be coming out in installments, and the first one will be out next month, in time for some kind of convention. It’s a fair gig. I was recruited for editing, but I don’t think he was aware that what he was really asking for was a ghostwriter, not a copy editor.

Um.

Seriously. No inspiration right now.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Little known fact about me: my best friend and I practiced saying the alphabet backwards as fast as we could just in case that was ever a sobriety test. When we were twelve-ish, so well before we were drinking and driving. Not that we planned to drink and drive. This was just something to do that we could stump a cop with one day. Anybody else have a story like that?
Anybody else able to say the alphabet backwards in less than four seconds?

Um.

I spent far too much time not typing.

This is not an impressive post.

I probably should have opened the nearest book and put my finger on a word and written about that for ten minutes. I think I’ll do that tomorrow. It could be entertaining. Or I could rewrite my story. But don’t worry, I’m definitely writing about our philosophy group meeting.