THEY'RE HANDS NOT WANDS

I woke up this morning intent on pounding out an outline for a short story I have swirling around my head… but the momentum seems to have faded. I fight with writer’s block.

I will my fingers to relay a stream of magical brilliance onto the keyboard… ...waiting… ... ...still waiting....

Nothing.

“WE'RE HANDS, NOT WANDS!!!” They shout at my disappointment.

I am mentally bruised and battered. Left in solitude to regenerate lost brain cells. I look to the dog for sympathy, but the only time that dog shows any interest in how I’m doing is when I break for a snack.

*BREAK*

I sit and eat my favorite ghetto dessert/meal, sugared butter toast, while staring at the blank page before me.

Nothing.

So in lieu of script writing, I do what comes natural: I eat and blog.