writer’s block

Stealing Away The Block

I meet for lunch, with a couple of writers

About ever other week

We usually talk sports

And size up the women around us

Eventually we get to our writing

Sometimes we share our notes

Passing them back and forth

While waiting for criticism or praise

We always mention how much writing we have been doing

We talk about endless nights of our ideas

Sometimes I scribble some ideas down

Ideas I, or the others, have mentioned

With intentions of using it later

I have in the past, seen my friends jotting notes, too

And I get a good laugh

Because I can see what they’re doing

I can read their minds

They’re telling the table



I laugh, because I’m the same

But writers are proud

Or stupid

Or both

So we sit at the table

And talk about how great we all are

All our endless ideas

Lying to each other, with big smiles on our faces

And we’d all like to wrap the lunch up

Go home and try again

To write something that we’re proud of

Something that kills the block

Something filled with the ideas

We stole from our friends

© Dicky J Loweman 2015


Unfinished Business

Some days, mornings usually, I can’t get started

Nothing comes to mind

There just isn’t anything I can think of to write about

These are frustrating times

But there are a grip of ways to deal with this problem

I take a shower

I smoke cigarettes

Overload on too much caffeine

Of course, there’s always the cocktails, if all else fails

So while these are aggravating times

They are certainly better than the opposite

When the ideas and stories flow

Almost as fast as this sod can type

Ideas, ideas and more ideas

I write on napkins, scraps of paper, envelopes, etc., etc.

This, I know, hardly sounds like a bad thing

Poor guy, too many ideas, not enough time

And sometimes that’s the plain truth


It is almost a certainty

That along with the oh-so-many ideas

Comes a constant and nagging problem

I simply can’t finish them

None of them

I have amassed hundreds of writes — started, but never completed

And there they sit

Staring at me

Laughing at me

Reminding me of how I leave so much undone, unfinished

And like I said

To me

This is much worse than a good old-fashioned writer’s block

Writer’s block goes away — always

It may take hours, maybe even days

But eventually (and with the previously mentioned help) it ends

But the endings are a hard find

It seems to resemble my lost car keys

I look and look, but often end up no closer to the end

This is one of those days

And even now, as I write this

I can’t seem to find a way to sum it up

So I guess I’ll just leave it at that

At least I sort of found an ending

(Right next to the car keys)

I just took the easy way out


A very cheap way out

© Dicky J Loweman 2015