5.11.11 Writers Block

The fingers tapped the auburn colored wood surface of the desk. “What to write, what to write?” She had nothing good to say. Nothing profound. Nothing of worth. There was a dam holding back the creativity that had once been there, that now needed inventive words to start flowing freely from her mind to her fingers.

Then, the fingers stopped tapping

and

The mind started working.

The imaginative thinking wheels started chugging along the path to success.

The fingers started tapping, but this time not on wood but on the black keys.

And there, on the white page, were black letters.