Clever Magazine, Writer's Block " Fall, '05 " (www.clevermag.com)

Wanna read the latest from Clever Magazine?
Click here and return to the coverpage!

Writer's Block

by Maxine K. Averbuck

     I have writer's block. I’ve hit the wall. I sit at the computer day after day and nothing happens. The blank, humming screen stares mockingly back at me. A few weeks ago I started a story. By the third page I knew it wasn't going anywhere. I thought the beginning was good but the middle was boring and I had no idea how it was going to end. I stare at the screen. Maybe I'll just keep it in the computer and get back to it some day.
      I have a half dozen other stories started and stored in my writer's folder. I also have a few pieces of paper cluttering my desk with words scribbled down; words that I want to use. They are words that pleased me when I say them and words that conjure a mental picture like impenetrable, sublime, exhaustion, overjoyed, vulnerable, astonishing, sanctimonious, on and on. Most of my ideas occur while I swim laps. I carry a pad of paper in my gym bag and jot down those ideas after my daily swim. Sometimes I overhear conversations at the pool or come upon interesting circumstances on the street and write those down too. I kept another pad at my bedside in case I wake up with a brilliant idea or got inspiration from a dream. Still nothing was happening.
     Since I’m at the computer I could pay a few bills and balance the checkbook. Maybe after that I’ll update all the backup disks. I can always go through the folders and trash old and unused stuff to increase my memory. My memory? Am I becoming one with my computer? This is ridiculous. Maybe I just need a break.
     I decide to go for a ride and clear the cobwebs from my head. The weather is warm enough to have the top down on my car. I whistle for my two dogs and drive out to the coast. It takes about a half hour by the scenic route past the old apple orchards and new vineyards, through the redwoods and over the rolling hills to the mouth of the Russian River. The dogs love riding in the convertible. They jostled to see who gets to sit in the passenger seat, but it is mostly a game they play. They know that whoever sits there going must sit in the back coming home. They’re excited and bark at every passing car, cyclist, and jogger.
     I can smell the ocean before I see it. I hear gulls and seals before I hear the ocean. The air’s salty, fresh, and a bit damp. It’s clear going over the last hill but I see the thick fog bank lying a few miles off the coast. I feel free, relaxed, and invigorated. Bear, a Labrador-Newfoundland cross and Reckless, a St. Bernard-Labrador cross, want to get out of the cramped car and run. I pull off at a parking lot that is adjacent to one of the many state beaches that dot the north coast. The dogs and I walk down the incline to the deserted beach. That is, I walk and they run.
     The Lab part wants to dash into the tide and the Newf and St. Bernard parts want to stay safely on shore. Talk about a dilemma. They settle for chasing gulls to the water's edge. They stop abruptly and turn back to see if I’m watching. I forget about writing. I forget about everything.
     The three of us walk in silent companionship for awhile. We reach a spot where the beach ends and the rocky Northern California coastline takes over. I look back down the expanse the dogs and I have covered and see my waffle-stomper prints along with their paw marks. I’m surprised at the distance we’ve walked. I sit down on a large boulder rubbed smooth by eons of the Pacific ocean. Bear and Reckless lay side by side at my feet. They’re quiet, but alert to the loneliness of the surroundings. I watch the fog bank creep closer and closer and the sun drop lower and lower until it’s lost behind the fog and I can no longer see the horizon.
     I heave a great sigh and the dogs looked up at me. I smile at them and stand up and stretch. "Well guys, what do ya say? Have we had enough?"
     We retrace our steps, but it seems to take a lot longer going back. The three of us are exhausted by the time we reach the car. There’s a spigot in the parking lot. I turn it on for the dogs to get a drink. I’m thirsty too, but want to wait and buy a bottle of water. We pile in the car. I drive south and stop at a little convenience store in Bodega Bay. I buy the water and a Power Bar and a few postcards to send to e-mail pen pals. Then I turn inland and head for home. This road is less scenic but the more direct and heavily traveled way. The dogs are tired and quiet and content to let the traffic roll by. They perk up when I turn down our long driveway. They jump out of the car before I can pull into the garage and head for their spots on the back porch to snooze.
     The house is dark when I go in. I switch on some lights and go upstairs to the office. I turn on the computer. I type in my secret password to open my writing folder. I wouldn't want just anyone reading my stuff. I think about inviting my daughter and grandchildren to visit. Yes, that does sound nice. Perhaps I should sleep on it though. Right now I have to conquer this blank page.