A Writer's Nightmare

The inner voice whispers, Just write. Allow the words to course through your bloodstream hemorrhaging upon the virgin paper. Let them ooze from your body as sweat through the pores. You do want to write? the sound questions.

"Oh, yes...I want to write. I need to feel the emotions pulsating through me as much as I must claim my next breath."

Then just compose, the advocate echoes.

"How...and about what?" I wail as my mentor fades.

Alone and stranded again with my clouded thoughts, I whimper, "How?"

My mind no longer sculpts, no longer chisels the clay brain with imagination. These fingers laced with spit cannot possibly mold that hardened putty into anything creative.

Palette of paints have dried, moistened occasionally only by tears of frustration. My sable brushes are lost. No tools left to mix the colors of my confused visions. The chaste canvas on easel anxiously awaits orgasm, an explosion of pigments. Yet, the cloth still defines innocence...untouched.

My pencil...sharpened until it resembles a weapon to assault the notebook I leave closed. Lined pages crave the touch of scrawled lead. I feel the guilt. A beautiful tree was destroyed...stripped, ground, and drowned to record my thoughts. Reflections that won't evolve into meaning.

Defeat. No, surely there is something I can write about. Something I can visualize. As hysteria penetrates my mentality, I wrestle with my assassin, "fear." Suddenly, realization strikes as I'm battling this four-letter word. I abhor four-letter words, unless it's ‘food' to fuel my imagination.

Fear? I nervously laugh at the audacity of it invading the belief in my own writings. It's often suggested to write about what you know...and I know ‘fear.' The worry over what others will think of my reflections. And then I mentally slug myself to remind me that I choose to share my feelings through my words. The response of others to my words can be accepted, appreciated, or overlooked. After all, they are my feelings and words. I'm no longer afraid to waste putty, paint or lead as I landscape the world with my expressions. It's my scenery, and I can carve, paint, or doodle whatever I want.


Note from author: An exercise in self-motivation to get myself writing again. It was either this or banging my head against the wall to loosen the brain cells...this was less painful.