Hello, lovely blog readers of the world! It is I, your beloved Chloe Zoey Carter. At first, today wasn’t the most creative-idea-producing day, but I think it turned out alright. Let me tell you what happened.
I had been staring at the sentence I had written two days ago for what seemed like hours. What next? I asked myself again and again. And again, and again, and again. But my usually creative mind was as blank as a vast, empty stretch of sandy desert.
With nothing but sand. And wind.
I pulled off my glasses and wiped them on the inside of my shirt for a moment to give my eyes a quick break. After putting them back on, I was almost afraid to face the relentless, never-ending, blinking cursor.
I forced myself to look at the computer again, but by now, my pretty screensaver was playing. It was picture after picture of exotic, colorful, beautiful butterflies. It made me feel a little brighter, but I still couldn’t figure out what in green tomatoes with slurpy smurf chopsticks and hot sauce… Oh! My brain is turning to mush, I’ve been staring at the screen for so long – to write next.
“Hey, Chloe-Zoey!” Cécile walked in, using my playful nickname. Her cheeks were rosy and a little flushed, as if she had been outside. She looked cheery and happy to be alive. “How’s the story coming along? Which one is it – you have so many, I just can’t remember them all!” She laughed, and in spite of my frustrated mood, I smiled at her high spirits.
“I’m working on ‘Recaptured,” I responded. “It’s another orphanage story. I love writing those, because I can make them so dramatic and suspenseful. But, actually, it’s not going so well at all. I can’t figure out what to write next!”
“That’s just it,” I mourned moanfully. Moanfully mourned. Moaned mournfully! I shook my head to snap myself out of a lazy, tired daze. Why hadn’t I agreed to nap with the others?
“That’s just it,” I continued. “I was working on ‘Endangered,’ and then I got stuck. So I went on to writing ‘Sapphire the Sprite,’ but whaddya know, I got stuck on that one too! I wanted to write some more of ‘The Case of the Long Lost Twin,’ but I just didn’t feel the motivation for that, either. And now I’m stick as a stuck deep in the mad for this one.” I blurt out in sorry-for-myself sentences. “I mean stack as a sick stuck in the mid. I mean stuck as a stick deep in the… oh, what do I mean? I’m not making any sense!”
Boy, was I a sorry sight to behold or what?
I leaned back in my swivel chair, gasping and pretending to faint into the arms of the nearest available variety.
I sat up, stuck my annoying glasses on my head, and gave her a playful grin. (If you can’t tell, I hate the fact that I have to wear glasses, and stick them on my head as much as possible if I’m not reading and writing.) “But seriously, what am I going to do?”
“I hate to break it to ya,” Cécile told me, “But you’ve got yourself a right nasty case of writers’ block.”
What? Writers’ block? The dreaded, awful, brain-mushing WRITERS’ BLOCK?!
“I’M DOOMED!” I sobbed, throwing my arms up in the air. “Doomed! Just doomed! Done, finished, finito! Oh, Cécile, the grief I feel is strictly unimaginable! Oh, woe is me, woe is me! I shall forever live the rest of my life crammed in a tiny hole dug in the ground. I shall dig it as if I’m digging my own grave! I will be in there, crying my eyeballs out until I die of dehydration! I’m doomed. Doomed, I tell you, DOOOMED!“
I had more in my mind to say, and you have to admit, it was an amazing, awfully depressing speech of pure doom. But Cécile calmly held up her hand to stop me, so I shut my mouth and began to lower my arms, which had been dramatically going along with everything I said. Grasping my heart, running desperately through my hair, gently placing the back of my hand against my forehead in a fainting position, things like that.
“Chloe, calm down. Writers’ block doesn’t last forever. Why don’t you take a break? Your eyes could most certainly use it. Eat a snack and have some fun. You could read a book, watch a TV show, or doodle. Get some inspiration, and that clears away writers’ block faster than you can say ‘bye-bye!’ You could even come back to your writing tomorrow, and could be inspired by a dream you have at night.” Explained Cécile patiently and kindly.
I gasped. “Cécile, you solved my problem!” Cried a very happy Chloe, clapping. “Thank you ever so much! Maybe I’ll eat my favorite popcorn with white cheddar powder on top, with a glass of milk and read a book or two. Maybe after that I’ll play outside and dream up adventures. Or listen to music while I swing and make an epic silent movie in my head! Oh, I can get inspiration from so many places after all. Thank you so much!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I continued, nearly flying out of my chair and throwing my arms around Cécile gratefully. “You have saved my entire writing career, and I am forever indebted to you!”
Cécile laughed again, accepting my hug. “Glad I could help, Chloe; Glad I could help.”
Thus, I felt better and more energized after taking a quick nap (had a hilarious dream of being a cat and throwing up hairballs, but I won’t explain that in detail, ’cause it might be too nasty and gross to put on a blog) and having a snack.
I played outside with Coconut and then came inside and painted a pretty flower. Ellie said I have the makings of a true artist, and then I gasped. “True! That’s it. Mariella the orphan decides to stay true to her poor mother and stay at the orphanage and not run away! True! That’s it, Ellie. Thanks!”
Ellie, who had no idea what I was talking about, just shrugged and said slowly “You’re welcome?”
And that cleared away my icky writers’ block!
Do you like to write stories? What’s your favorite story you’ve ever written, or favorite book you’ve ever read?