Writer's Block

“So. What’re you here for?”

“Hmm?” she looked up from her phone to see a young man staring at her intently.

“I asked why you were here” the man repeated. Despite the waiting room being empty, he had chosen to sit directly next to her. She was a little confused and taken aback by his sudden appearance and interest in her.

“What’s it to you?” she asked, trying not to sound rude. She didn’t come here to be questioned by a mysterious, rather creepy man. She came here to be cured; and she was promised just that. She had heard about this clinic, and though had her skepticism, decided she had nothing left to lose.

“I was just curious, I guess” he shrugged. “And maybe help pass the time if I could… I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour now” he added, pretending to look at his watch, barely even taking note of the time.

“Oh- it’s a long wait?” she asked, tugging on the hem of her dress, and biting her lip. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she had expected to be waiting, but was surprised of the length of wait time, considering there was nobody else in the room but her, and this strange man.

“Yeah, sometimes people can end up waiting for hours before they get in” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. A moment of silence ensued, both absorbed in their own thoughts. The waiting room was plain, and nothing extraordinary. The walls were painted a boring dull yellow, with no pictures hanging to liven the room up. It was small, one window being covered by blackout curtains. There was no natural lighting; just the light overhead, and lamp to the right of her. She expected to see a TV or magazines to read but was disappointed. The room was also silent; all that could be hear was the dull buzz of the light overhead. Without anything to read or watch, it would be a long wait if she was indeed going to be stuck waiting for hours.

“I’m here because I’m stuck” she finally broke the silence. The man looked at her skeptically but did not interject. “I’ve been working on this short story for what feels like months now- but regardless of how much I try and work on it, nothing seems to get done” she sighed heavily, feeling frustrated. “I’ve had writers block before, but it’s never been this bad!” she added in frustration, throwing her hands up.

“So that’s why you’re here?” the young man questioned, to which she nodded.

“I’m usually write to relax, and unwind, but having writers block? It just takes the fun out of it. I don’t want to quit writing, but if I continue down this path I’m on, I’ll just have to give up” she fumed, beginning to feel genuine anger for the first time.

“Give up writing?” he asked, a little taken aback. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” he then asked, not use to seeing the patients this angry before.

“I used to write whenever I was sad, or upset, or wanted to get my feelings out onto paper… but when I try and write down any thoughts and feelings, nothing seems to come out. I can’t seem to put my thoughts into words anymore. Did I lose it? Did I lose my way with words?” she wondered aloud. She realized she was beginning to ramble to a total stranger and felt a little silly.

“I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t be dumping this on you” she found herself apologizing, wishing she had never come in the room. “I don’t know why I thought coming here was a promising idea” she muttered, shaking her head, and letting out a heavy sigh.

“So, you came here to get a cure for your writer’s block, yeah?” the man asked, trying to calm her down. She was about to get up from her seat but paused, eyeing him skeptically, before sitting back down.

“Yeah- if there’s even such thing as a cure” she confirmed, and he nodded.

“Well, what are you writing about?” the man asked, attempting to help the poor young writer.

“That’s the thing…” she trailed off, embarrassed. “I keep writing a small introduction, changing my mind, writing a new introduction, and repeat” she mumbled. “So, I guess I don’t have anything written”

“Getting started is always the hardest part” he confirmed, nodding his head. “What you’re lacking is clearly inspiration” speaking the obvious.

“That’s another problem- where do you even get that?” she questioned.

“It’s all around you” the man replied, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Just- take for example, this room. What do you make of it?”

“It’s boring” she scoffed immediately.

“What’s so boring about it?” he probed.

“Well, I mean just look around! The walls are painted this dull yellow color, there’s nothing hanging up on the walls which is strange for a ‘doctor’s’ office. There are no magazines, or TV to watch as people file in to wait. So, what are they supposed to do? Twiddle their thumbs? Clearly not much thought was put into designing this room by whomever owns this place” she began to ramble. “It’s almost as if someone bought this old office building that went out of business because their terribly boring employees brought nothing to the table! Nothing around here provides any sort of motivation, so I mean why would they work hard? Next thing you know, they’re out of a job, a doctor moves in, and evidently decides to opt out of making this place appealing to anybody” she laughed, shaking her head.

“What sort of business would have an office like this?” the man asked, laughing along with her. “I mean the entire building is like this. Barely decorated, no natural lighting, kind of depressing” he quipped.

“Right?!” she exclaimed, glad somebody agreed with her. “It seems strange to have it laid out this way for a place that’s supposed to ‘cure’ writers block” she scoffed. “I mean I’ve been waiting in here for what, like twenty minutes now, nobody has even come out to acknowledge I’m here. I can’t hear anything except for this terribly annoying humming sound from the light fixture, which, to be honest, would begin to get on my nerves very quickly” she added for good measure. The man peered at her with question.

“It seems like your thoughts are running a hundred miles an hour” he repeated the line he was so used to saying over the years. The young writer paused, a look of first utter shock, to surprise, followed by a big smile.

“You’re right” she whispered excitedly. “I never lost my ability- I think I just was trying to force something that wasn’t meant to be” she added, getting up from her seat. “I’m sorry- I mean I have to go” she quickly began to gather her things.

“Go? But you haven’t been cured yet” the man smirked as she scrambled to leave the office.

“I don’t think I need to wait to be cured. I think I cured myself- and I guess with some help from you” she added, blushing. The man shook his head, not wanting to take credit for anything.

“I didn’t do anything- it was all you” he smiled. “Good luck”

“Thanks. Hopefully you get in soon” she replied, hurriedly walking from the office. As she left, the man smirked, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

“Another one helped” he said to the empty room. He got up from the chair and looked around, admiring just how dull and depressing he had made the ‘waiting room’. Nobody had ever made it past the ‘waiting room’, because there was no other room to exist in the place.

The writer would walk in, usually uncomfortably and skeptically. After making them wait for a brief period of time he would make an entrance and engage in conversation. Every time the person would tell him why they were there, and every time he was able to help them overcome their writers block, with them none the wiser.

Hearing a faint ding, he knew another client had made their way into the building. Going back to his waiting area, the man plopped down on his chair and began all over again, the smile never leaving his face. There was just something amazing about helping people, regardless of how much he truly helped.

He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to start a writer’s block clinic. Maybe it was to help all the writer’s lacking inspiration, knowing in their position he had never had the help. Regardless of the reason, he was always successful in curing people, and it gave him a great feeling each time.

Author's Notes

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