A block seems to have formed. Odd phrases, words and character sketches have congealed in to an unrecognisable mass lodged in some u-bend of the mind, refusing to budge. ‘I thought we were friends’ I plead. ‘Come on, move why don’t you?’ ‘I created you!’ I thunder ‘I can destroy you too’. I can hear them smirk and giggle among themselves.
‘I don’t need you. There are others better than you – you’re a dime a dozen.’
But there are no others.
So I wait, pen in hand.
(I know, there's nothing more boring than someone writing about writer's block. Say that fast 10 times)