The other morning, I was determined to write a short story. About what, I had no clue. So I just sat there in a rocking chair on the front porch, staring into space. Nothing came to me. My mind was blank. Then an idea came to me. I would write a short story about my problem! I would write about writer’s block.
Now, the only way you’re going to find this funny is if you know my name. So. Does anyone know who I am? Anyone? Well, for those of you who don’t… Rebekah.
Now read. I promise it’s not long, and you’ll at least smile when you get to the end. Even if it’s only mentally.
Greg sighed. He hated writer’s block. The whiteness of the notebook page almost seemed sinful to him. Poking the page with his pen, Greg tried to think up a first sentence. Even a word would do.
Greg had gotten up early to write. Always had. Before the kids bounced down the stairs with their cheerful noise, he’d tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. He’d woken up his wife, Cherry, because he’d stepped on a LEGO and sworn slightly louder than he’d planned.
All for nothing. The only thing he could think of was how awful writer’s block was. He’d read many articles on how to “Rid Writer’s Block for Good,” or on “Making Writer’s Block your Friend,” but nothing helped.
Then Greg got an idea. He’d write about writer’s block. Carefully, he formed his dot into an “R” and wrote, “Rebekah sighed. She hated writer’s block…”
Have a lovely day.