BLOCKED

His pen stopped moving and He lay it down. He rubbed his temples. He looked at the stack of pages he had already written and then down at the blank page before Him. He cracked His knuckles and picked up His pen and hovered. Then He put it back down, stood up and walked around the room.

He had a snack. He took a shower. He read the newspaper and an old book for a bit.

A nap didn't help. Nor did going for a long walk. He tried to paint for a bit and listen to music.

Finally He had to admit it. He was blocked. Completely and entirely blocked.

It has started so well. Compelling, fast paced.

But over the pages it had just gotten too convoluted. He had written Himself into a hole. So many plot inconsistencies, too many improbably events. Way too many characters. He was stuck with the Story and had not idea how to get out. He might be able to fix it with editing but the idea of doing that just made His head hurt. Probably best to trash it and start over.

No. It might be salvageable. Someday. After he had finished another project.

He boxed up the pages and placed the boxes on a shelf in the top of the closet.

He sat back at the desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. Picking the pen back up, feeling excited again to be starting something new, open to infinite possibilities. He had liked the way the last one had started, perhaps. Something like that. He put the pen to the page and wrote.

In the beginning...