This was a little assignment for English II. I was supposed to turn in two descriptive essays. I turned one in but couldn’t find a topic for the other….

Writer’s Block

By Elizabeth Dowell

I tell you, if you wanted to strike terror into the hearts of writers around the world, teenaged, young, or old, black, white, or purple, regardless of their nerves of steel and unbendable wills (I’ve discovered through observation that writers oft tend to be quite stubborn), all you would have to do is face on directly and utter two simple words.

“Writer’s Block.”

Just putting them down on paper has made me cringe and die a little on the inside; it’s made me become older and a few gray hairs will be appearing on my scalp a few hours earlier than they could have. I believe I also feel nauseas.

And so to prevent myself from repeating this terrible ordeal, we shall now refer to the terrible thing as IT.

IT, as it would seem, would come upon you at the worst possible times, just when, for instance, your muse is standing tall and proud, ready to sing ideas into your brain in the best soprano that she can. But of course the moment this all happens, and she begins to open her mouth, IT crashes down upon her, raining stones and fire upon her head, crushing her with the weight of a thousand tons, being made of the strongest steel and rock. IT is now blocking up, if you will, the proverbial road of inspiration.

For example: Two weeks ago (more than that, actually, even if by just a bit) I was assigned a packet of work to complete for my English class in order to better understand the material. One of the assignments was to write two descriptive essays. This I was whole-heartedly prepared to do. I even completed one and handed it in. Yet a topic for the second essay eluded me. I couldn’t even begin to come up with something suitable.

I thought: “I’ll do something else and not think about it. It will come to me later.”

How very wrong I was.

Because not only can IT come crashing down upon you with all the malice of hell’s devils, it can also act as a quick little thief and sneak up on you before you know it; it curls thorned vines around your arms and legs and makes itself at home before you even know what hits you, squeezing its vice-like grip around you, but above all making sure you, the victim, never notices – at least not until it’s already too late!

As was such in my case.

To be fair I suppose if I’d concentrated a bit more on it, instead of going home and worrying about math homework and my brother and how I was going to manage to make time for all these other things I just had to do (after all, one can’t simply put off the important tasks of browsing the Internet and playing video games for inconsequential things such as homework…!), I could have won out in the end, but alas, the second essay hasn’t even been born yet and is already too far past the due date for my liking, and there’s just nothing for it.

And so the vines of IT crept upon me and I was bound by lack of inspiration combine with my ill-mannered methods of setting straight my priorities. You see, you must see, that I was so sure that it would hit me, that it would just appear if I stopped trying so hard, if I just thought of other things And this was not a bad idea; most of my inspirational thoughts tend to hit me at odd moments—in the shower, during dinner, when walking to class (it should be noted that I’ve found that it is not wise to mistake an irritable teenager who is running late to class for an idea). And so sure I was, that I would think of it in the nick of time and the essay would be written and handed in with little fuss.

But it’s too late. IT has crept into my mind, my soul, my brain, its constricting vines wrapped around me and typing me down to its stone surface. IT has crushed my muse. IT has sent me into the spiraling depths of terror, leaving me on edge, waiting, wondering – will it ever go away?

Good Lord, was that the bell? I’ve wasted all this time! Just wonderful, now I’ve got to go up to the English room and attempt to explain to my teacher why I’ve no essay to hand to her! You see this is what I mean about priorities! Instead of sitting here recounting the horrible aspects of…of IT, I should have been thinking of topics for my descriptive essay!

Oh well, it can’t be helped now. But I do hope that in light of my problem, my English teacher will understand why I’m having such difficulty turning in this essay and why she won’t be receiving one today. I sincerely hope she is in good humor and a gracious mood.

And so, here’s to hoping.

As a sidenote, I got a really good grade. Like 95 or 100. Don’t remember.