The Writer's Block

The Writer's Block - Chapter 1

The Writer's Block

Joe Smith was not an exciting man. He had always thought it the fault of his parents, having supplied him with such a boring name since birth, setting him up for a lifetime of boredom and insufficiency. But he dealt with it the best he could, dating boring women, going to boring bars, and working his boring job at the stationary company distributing boringly blank pads of paper.

At night he would pray for the gift of a less boring existence as he ate a TV dinner in front of the TV on a tin fold out table as was appropriate of the meal. He would find himself staring blankly into the empty texture of his wall between the picture of parents in sweaters and the TV, his fork lingering somewhere between his mouth and dinner, boring potatoes ever so slowly sliding off the prongs.

It was during one of these moments he realized he wanted to be a writer. And though he had never been anything other than boring when it came to grammar and vocabulary he walked into his office and dug up a notebook from the bottom of his bottom drawer. He stood there and held the precious item in both hands, brow furrowed, perplexed by the odd desire to write things in it.

Gingerly he slid out his chair and set the notebook down. Eased into the seat, licked the tip of a pen and set to.

The story was about a boring man who lived a boring life and wanted to be a writer. It was not a page turner. It was in fact, a bothersome bore.

Joe sighed in frustration then felt the surge of a rather un-boring emotion, anger. Try as he may he could not inhibit the emotion. With a strange, inhuman squeal he grabbed up the notebook and ripped it to shreds, flinging its bits and pieces about the room in a flurry of pinwheeling pieces of parchment.