Dear Writer's Block

         Dear Writer's Block,

         You seem to mistake words and mix them up. Don't you remember that I mentioned I'd like to prognosticate? I believe it's important that a writer think, explore, and attempt to solve puzzles. To do this, I need uninterrupted me time.

         You're a distraction. You thought I'd said procrastinate, and, whew, you're good at it. You're a world class time waster, a goal/deadline ignorer extraordinaire.

         When I'm with you ideas fade away. Always elusive they disappear. No longer do they tease just out of reach. They scamper into hiding.

         You have no discipline, or work ethic. You are maddeningly frustrating. You are stubborn and immoveable.

         I'm sorry. Don't misconstrue these two words as being conciliatory. I'm Canadian and I have a compulsion to apologize. I'm sorry is a reflex.

         We need to break up, dissolve our relationship, move on. This isn't working for me. When I'm with you I feel powerless. You smother my creativity. Your wool blanket persona is too heavy, too itchy, and too warm. Actually, I am allergic to wool. Why did I just sit and scratch?

         I'm putting my foot down. I mean it. We're finished. I'm taking a stand. I'm standing up to you. I'm standing tall again on my own two feet. Out from under your influence, I can think. There are so many writing possibilities. I know, I know. I overdid the standing thing, but it's a start.

         No more marathon movie binges. How can I weave a string of words together if I'm swept along, gasping and struggling, with a film's tormented characters? Their tortures, their bewilderment, their discoveries become mine.

         My creative voice is bruised and battered. Time and again I permitted you, Writer's Block, to deflect it, suppress it, and ignore it.

         A voice needs expression. My voice had been silenced. Although a wee bit shaky and hoarse from disuse, my voice yearns to sing.

         So, this is goodbye. I am banishing you from my life. I refuse to acknowledge your whispers, wheedles, and whines. I choose to listen to me.

         I need to write. I want to submerge myself in a sparkling stream of words. I enjoy chasing an idea, and wrestling it into a story. You did your utmost to sabotage this.

         This is it, a final farewell. Do not attempt to contact me. You Writer's Block are um, er, blocked. Yes, that's it. You are henceforth denied access. (404 words )