Writer's Block (Part One)

This is a short story I'm currently, as in right now, am working on, and I just want an early opinion. This is the story about a writer who has a severe case of writer's block, and decides to go for a stroll to clear his head.

Writer’s Block

(Part One)

Justin Guidroz

 

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

           

The cursor silently taunted T.J., blinking on and off for the last five hours. The white screen glared into his face, the only disturbance on the document being his name, T.J. Buras, on the top right-hand corner. His deer-in-a-headlight stare accompanied his drawn tired face. His head rested on his right hand which turned a strain of his long brown hair. It was starting to go gray in areas, something Carolyn didn’t fail to mention to him every conversation they had. She also didn’t fail to remind him of his crummy, tiny apartment which was the size of a janitor’s closet. His twin bed lay next to his dinner table which was piled high with unpaid bills, publication houses’ reminders, and empty pepperoni pizza boxes. His computer desk was also hidden beneath a flood of papers and books. His laptop sat in the center of the desk, between piles of story ideas and rejected manuscripts. Next to his desk was the bathroom in which if you balanced yourself well enough on one leg you could wash your hands, urinate, and wash your feet simultaneously. He remembers the day he bought the apartment very well, how proud he was as he and Carolyn entered, her face distorted with distaste as he grinned and said how it was a great ‘creative space’, which Carolyn rebuked with a simple question, “What space?”

Enough, I have to get outta here. T.J. thought to himself. He moved his chair back, pushing astray papers and paper plates across the cluttered floor. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom, discarded Cheetos crackling under his bare feet. He looked in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot and puffy from a combination of no sleep and frustrated tears. Every two hours he would wake up with the next great American novel in his head, just to go completely blank as soon as his computer booted up. He lost hours upon hours of sleep sitting and waiting, staring at the screen, hoping the story would come out of the dark chasms in his mind. It never had, however, and his publishers were growing anxious. His first novel, a worldwide best-seller, put him on the map, but his star was fading fast.

T.J. changed into a Dead Kennedy’s tee-shirt and took off his plaid pajama pants and pulled on a pair of faded jeans. A loud buzzing could be heard outside from his next door neighbor’s house. It’s probably Carl, doing something incredible absent of thought. Carl Marks, T.J.’s neighbor, was a deranged and probably clinical insane raging drunk who does things without much thought. He also was always home, getting fired from every job he’s ever had, the most recent resulting in his firing from a video store for switching out all of the family section DVD boxes with adult DVDs and attempting to steal a large glass window pane from the front of the store to use as a sliding door for his shower.

T.J. slipped on his worn-out sneakers, shut down his laptop, the cursor’s blinking finally defeated, and opened his door. A flood of light illuminated his apartment, blinding T.J. as the world took shape before his eyes. A warm sweet breeze stirred the papers around his apartment, fluttering and levitating like the robins outside in the tall oak tr-

CRACK!

T.J. jumped back into his apartment moments before a large oak tree fell in front of his doorstep. The sidewalk where he was standing mere moments ago was now a thick bush of leave, twigs, and birds’ nests. He looked to his left as the buzzing died down, and there stood Carl, his hair wild and curly, his face fixated in a goofy grin. T.J. always thought of Carl as some guy who should be living in the country with a smart guy named George, and he should be renamed Lenny.

“Carl, what the hell are you doing?!” T.J. yelled in frustration.

“Oh hey buddy, how are you this morning?” Carl slurred, clumsily bowing, his head coming awfully close to the chainsaw buzzing his hands.

“What are you thinking Carl? Are you drunk?”

“Just impaired Teej, just impaired.”

“Did you have to cut the tree down Carl?” T.J. asked exhaustedly.

“Yeah man, all those damn birds keep chirpin’,” Carl said in his Southern drawl.

“OK, Carl, OK. Just knock on my door next time, before I become a filet minion on the pavement OK?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. President,” Carl saluted T.J., then fell backwards and passed out.

T.J. shook his head, and made his way around the tree. Why can’t I have a normal neighbor like everyone else? Once on the other side of the tree, T.J. immediately got back on the pavement, fearing the lawn. The lawn was a minefield of solid feces left behind by the neighborhood dogs and, sometimes, Carl.

A loud screeching sound, the burning of rubber against the road caused T.J. to turn abruptly. A small, sleek black sports car was speeding down the street. The engine revved loudly, and the car sped in T.J.’s direction. Are you kidding? He crouched and prepared to be ready to roll as to dodge the mad driver, willing to risk rolling into Carl’s excrement for a chance to live, when the car stopped suddenly in front of the house. T.J. stood up, feeling ridiculous, and slowly approached the car. The passenger door flung open wildly, and a loud, commanding voice yelled, “T.J. Buras, get in the car ASAP, chop chop!” T.J. unconsciously obeyed, and climbed into the car which then sped down the road.

 

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

Author's Note

I would just like a overall review for the story, what can I do to make it better, and what direction may I take it in to bring it up a notch. I may be done with the story by the time I read these reviews, but thank you for the time!

Reviews

[CLUTZ]

WHAT THE HELL!!! don't misunderstand this comment, i'm a nice person and i only yell at my friends. so here goes i love your story but WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU STOP RIGHT THERE?! i guess. great story, but i'm mad at you. and i know this probably doesn't help and it's not constructive or criticism for that matter but constructive isn't in my vocabulary and i don't usually criticize. so yeah. i like this. but i hope you plan on finishing. thank you and nice job.