Writers Block

Writers Block

Tyler grinned as he read the review for his latest book, Of Blood and Fire. “An original murder mystery and thriller with a surprise twist, Of Blood and Fire is an excellent read sure to keep you coming back for more. As usual, Tyler Drey's descriptions are amazingly realistic, practically leading you to believe you were looking at the scene with the characters own eyes. I would rate this book a four out of five stars."

The shine of pride in his eyes slowly faded however, as he looked back to a blank screen, what he had been hoping to make his newest bestseller. Shoulders slumped, he considered what to write. It had to happen sometime, he thought wryly. In his seven years of writing, he had never seemed to run out of ideas. Usually he got them from articles he found online or in a newspaper, but his few top of the charts best sellers all seemed to come to him while he slept, not quite dreams, but incredibly vivid scenes that always brought chills. This time though, he was just totally stumped. He'd looked up articles online, looked in the newspaper, and in the depths of his desperation, he had even looked up the Darwin Awards, but all to no avail.

He looked back to the article, hoping that in its depths he could find a solution. Down below it was a picture of himself, and he studied it as if within it his answer could be found. It was a picture from a few years back, when he still wore his dark brown hair long, and his brown eyes still held a twinkle that years of constant work had all but buried. His only distinguishing feature was a white scar on his left cheek he had gotten from his high school years.

He was still trying to see his answer when her heard the shrill ring of his phone. Muttering about phone calls always arriving at the worst time possible, he slowly extricated himself from his chair, his limbs complaining at having to move after such long imprisonment. He shuffled over to the kitchen, and not bothering to turn off the lights, snatched the phone off the hook. 530-374-6942: His editor, David's, number glowed eerily within the dark lighting.

“Hello? I'm here,” answered Tyler.

“You gonna have that book started anytime soon?” inquired David in his light southern accent.

“Almost,” replied Tyler, “I think I may have a few good ideas.”

“Well you better hurry up then! I'm expecting another bestseller from you!”

“I'm working on it.”

Tyler put down the phone and trudged upstairs, hoping that a good nights sleep could possibly goad his mind into coming up with something, anything at all. His head had barely touched the pillow when he sank into the darkness of sleep.

It was one of the dreams that always seemed to inspire his best novels, yet it was horrifying, even for those. There was a man, sneaking into a house. The moonlight glinted off the blade of a knife as he went in through the back door, the full circle giving a silver cast to the living room he had entered. He searched the house until he found her in the bed. While she was still sleeping, he slid the knife along her pale throat, staining the once pure sheets a deep maroon. Crimson flowers blossomed along the walls and bed. He raised his face in laughter, a pale white scar on his left cheek shining in the silver lighting.

Tyler woke, shivers running down his spine. It had seemed so vivid, so realistic. He thought on how to convey this scene to the readers while he went downstairs. He went outside for the morning newspaper, the crisp air waking him fully. He started towards the kitchen for breakfast, but decided bypass it to write about the scene while it still seemed so real  within his mind. As he wrote, a headline caught his eye, but for the life of him he couldn't grasp the significance, and the thought of it quickly faded in scene he was painting with words.

“Woman Murdered While Sleeping”

Word Count: 703