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The Writer woke up from a deep refreshing sleep. He was so full of ideas that he was itching to get to work. With that same eagerness, he leapt out of bed ... But wait a moment, where was he? This was certainly not HIS room; his room was not covered entirely in wood paneling. This was not his bed.
Around the room, several objects were scattered. A bucket of paint and a brush; pen and a large blank book; a computer and several other items that looked too advanced for him to grasp their concepts.
'What on Earth?' the Writer said.
'Welcome,' said a voice from behind the Writer.
The Writer spun around and looked for the source of the voice. The bed had disappeared and there was a short man where the bed was. Or was ther ever a bed to begin with? The Writer was confused.
'Fear not,' said the man, 'for I have seen the wonders of your craft, and have brought you here so that you can work on it.'
'Are you my muse?' the Writer asked.
'Something like that,' the man said as his eyes darted around the room, 'if you want you may begin to work. I trust that you have plenty of ideas.'
'Yes!' the Writer said.
Immediately, the Writer rushed to the computer, sat down, and started typing like a madman.
After a quarter of an hour of writing non-stop, the Writer stopped and reread what he had just written.
'What on earth is this garbage?' the Writer said, 'I'm lucky enough to have used prepositions, there isn't even an adequate line of description anywhere in this.'
The Writer pushed the chair back and got up. He cracked his back and decided to try and write another idea by hand. Yes, maybe it would work.
Again, he sat down and started to write on the blank book with the pen.
His writing was faster now, more fluid; his words were colourful and the dialogue impeccable. But there was no single line of description. The Writer sighed, tore out the words that he had written and started to rewrite the same scene again, with added description.
It didn't work. The descriptions felt forced and flat. He couldn't write any description that seemed to fit the scene. The Writer ceased his writing and started to draw a part of what he had tried to write.
The drawing itself was fine at first but as soon as the complexity of the scene started to increase, the drawing became horrible. The frustrated Writer stood up and the chair toppled over with a thick crashing sound as he pushed it back. His ideas must be commited to a surface, any surface, no matter what!
There remained only one option. The paint. Paint was something that was very difficult to draw in, but the Writer had to try. The ideas didn't stop coming just because he couldn't write them down. His thoughts were going to drown in ideas if he was not going to get rid of them.
He snatched the brush and saw that the paint was still sealed. That was going to be a bitch to open, the Writer realized, but he did not lose faith in himself.
Oddly enough, prying the lid off the can of paint proved to be easy. Something told the Writer that there was a problem here, but he didn't take heed and dipped the brush into the paint and started to draw on the wall.
Half an hour later the Writer could be found huddled in a dark corner, hugging his knees whilst rocking back and forth.
'A bashful sorceress and a sailor seek a legendary ring in this tale of comedy,' he said.
'A besotted peasant has something that belongs to a mysterious satyr, and silliness ensues.'
'A brash ghost and a dairymaid seek a legendary spell in this tale of wacky hijinks.'
'A brash stableboy blackmails a band of elves. The result is romance.'
'A cantankerous satyr offers to help a grumpy alchemist, and pandemonium ensues.'
'A dwarf raised by merfolk learns a secret from a young satyr.'
'A headstrong farmer has something that belongs to a wicked sailor, resulting in romance.'
'A lonely peasant and a stableboy seek a legendary map in this tale of pandemonium.'
'In this story, dragons and robbers clash with a brash shepherdess stuck in the middle.'
'This tale of melodrama begins when a headstrong satyr has something that belongs to a charming sorceress.'
'So ... many ideas,' the Writer said as he continued to rock back and forth. 'So much potential, such a waste.'
A smile broke onto the Writer's face as he stopped rocking and looked at the ceiling. 'A brilliant writer is trapped in a room by his muse. This results in his personal hell.'
Around the room, several objects were scattered. A bucket of paint and a brush; pen and a large blank book; a computer and several other items that looked too advanced for him to grasp their concepts.
'What on Earth?' the Writer said.
'Welcome,' said a voice from behind the Writer.
The Writer spun around and looked for the source of the voice. The bed had disappeared and there was a short man where the bed was. Or was ther ever a bed to begin with? The Writer was confused.
'Fear not,' said the man, 'for I have seen the wonders of your craft, and have brought you here so that you can work on it.'
'Are you my muse?' the Writer asked.
'Something like that,' the man said as his eyes darted around the room, 'if you want you may begin to work. I trust that you have plenty of ideas.'
'Yes!' the Writer said.
Immediately, the Writer rushed to the computer, sat down, and started typing like a madman.
After a quarter of an hour of writing non-stop, the Writer stopped and reread what he had just written.
'What on earth is this garbage?' the Writer said, 'I'm lucky enough to have used prepositions, there isn't even an adequate line of description anywhere in this.'
The Writer pushed the chair back and got up. He cracked his back and decided to try and write another idea by hand. Yes, maybe it would work.
Again, he sat down and started to write on the blank book with the pen.
His writing was faster now, more fluid; his words were colourful and the dialogue impeccable. But there was no single line of description. The Writer sighed, tore out the words that he had written and started to rewrite the same scene again, with added description.
It didn't work. The descriptions felt forced and flat. He couldn't write any description that seemed to fit the scene. The Writer ceased his writing and started to draw a part of what he had tried to write.
The drawing itself was fine at first but as soon as the complexity of the scene started to increase, the drawing became horrible. The frustrated Writer stood up and the chair toppled over with a thick crashing sound as he pushed it back. His ideas must be commited to a surface, any surface, no matter what!
There remained only one option. The paint. Paint was something that was very difficult to draw in, but the Writer had to try. The ideas didn't stop coming just because he couldn't write them down. His thoughts were going to drown in ideas if he was not going to get rid of them.
He snatched the brush and saw that the paint was still sealed. That was going to be a bitch to open, the Writer realized, but he did not lose faith in himself.
Oddly enough, prying the lid off the can of paint proved to be easy. Something told the Writer that there was a problem here, but he didn't take heed and dipped the brush into the paint and started to draw on the wall.
Half an hour later the Writer could be found huddled in a dark corner, hugging his knees whilst rocking back and forth.
'A bashful sorceress and a sailor seek a legendary ring in this tale of comedy,' he said.
'A besotted peasant has something that belongs to a mysterious satyr, and silliness ensues.'
'A brash ghost and a dairymaid seek a legendary spell in this tale of wacky hijinks.'
'A brash stableboy blackmails a band of elves. The result is romance.'
'A cantankerous satyr offers to help a grumpy alchemist, and pandemonium ensues.'
'A dwarf raised by merfolk learns a secret from a young satyr.'
'A headstrong farmer has something that belongs to a wicked sailor, resulting in romance.'
'A lonely peasant and a stableboy seek a legendary map in this tale of pandemonium.'
'In this story, dragons and robbers clash with a brash shepherdess stuck in the middle.'
'This tale of melodrama begins when a headstrong satyr has something that belongs to a charming sorceress.'
'So ... many ideas,' the Writer said as he continued to rock back and forth. 'So much potential, such a waste.'
A smile broke onto the Writer's face as he stopped rocking and looked at the ceiling. 'A brilliant writer is trapped in a room by his muse. This results in his personal hell.'
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Over the past few days, I've been stuck with Writer's Block. I know that there are several writers who don't believe in Writer's Block, but I do.
My kind of Writer's Block isn't a lack of ideas, thankfully I have plenty of them and if I did lack any suitable ideas, the fantasy plotter ([link]) would provide me with a suitable one with a couple of clicks. Some of my best idea came to me when I was delirious in a bed in Naples.
A Writer's Block is much more serious than that, it's having several neat ideas and not knowing how to express yourself. Maybe the story lacks descriptions or maybe it doesn't feel right. Over the last few days, I have tried editing, writing from scratch and continuing other works in progress. I have tried the afore mentioned plot generator for new ideas. No dice.
Just now, I have written this piece about A Writer's Hell. I hope you enjoy it.
Giving credit where credit is due, the block of ideas that were given in the story were generated using the fantasy plotter. [link]
Apparently, for me, one way to combat a Writer's Block is to write a story about Writer's Block. With a sigh of relief, I hope that I'm right. If I'm not, I can say that I came up with an interesting story during a Writer's Block.
(story and description cross-posted on my blog [link])
How was the flow of this piece? Too fast, too slow? Can you see the room in your mind's eye?
My kind of Writer's Block isn't a lack of ideas, thankfully I have plenty of them and if I did lack any suitable ideas, the fantasy plotter ([link]) would provide me with a suitable one with a couple of clicks. Some of my best idea came to me when I was delirious in a bed in Naples.
A Writer's Block is much more serious than that, it's having several neat ideas and not knowing how to express yourself. Maybe the story lacks descriptions or maybe it doesn't feel right. Over the last few days, I have tried editing, writing from scratch and continuing other works in progress. I have tried the afore mentioned plot generator for new ideas. No dice.
Just now, I have written this piece about A Writer's Hell. I hope you enjoy it.
Giving credit where credit is due, the block of ideas that were given in the story were generated using the fantasy plotter. [link]
Apparently, for me, one way to combat a Writer's Block is to write a story about Writer's Block. With a sigh of relief, I hope that I'm right. If I'm not, I can say that I came up with an interesting story during a Writer's Block.
(story and description cross-posted on my blog [link])
How was the flow of this piece? Too fast, too slow? Can you see the room in your mind's eye?
© 2010 - 2024 4th-guy
Comments2
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This is a great idea! I have the same kind of writer's block, and it's been preventing me from writing my series for months. I like the different things you gave to your character to express his ideas (the computer, paper/pencil, paint, etc.) and how he used them. On thing that seriously bugged me was a phrase you used in the second paragraph. You wrote "The bed had disappeared and there was a short man where the bed was." It seemed redundant, saying bed twice, and the tense seemed wrong when you said "where the bed was". I personally would have phrased it "The bed had disappeared and there was a short man where it had been." I don't know, though; that's just my opinion. You described the room and its contents perfectly as well, but I would have maybe added a little more description to the "short man".
I hope that helps some. ^-^
I hope that helps some. ^-^