Writer’s Block and Other Forms of Harassment

It was a Tuesday, which meant the prompt had been sitting unanswered for four days. He told himself this was fine. Most of his better ideas arrived late. Usually inconveniently late.

The prompt wanted conflict. He just wanted sleep.

[I guess a second pot of coffee it is]

He took a deep breath and hit the brew button. Maybe something would come to mind once the timer went off.

[Well… I guess that would be a start.]

******

Mr. Hammons poured himself a cup of coffee and downed it in four scalding gulps. “I just have to make it through the next few hours and I’ll be off for the next week and a half.”

He turned to give his wife a kiss but was winded as his three year old ran by at just the wrong height. “Stop running in the house,” Mr. Hammons gasped.

******

[No. That doesn’t feel right maybe he’s not a family man. Maybe. Just maybe he’s……]

******

Montrez Hammons was no ordinary 15 year old. No, not at all. He was absolutely, and unquestionably, extraordinary.

It just so happened to be that today was the day he would find himself hanging from his briefs from the bathroom stall door. You may ask yourself, “Why does this make him absolutely, and unquestionably, extraordinary?” That would be a great question but unfortunately for our young Mr. Hammons that question has not been answered yet.

******

[I don’t like that but parts of it could work. Maybe if I jump ahead a bit. Change his age. Established backstory that is fleshed out in flashbacks. Yeah. That could work.]

******

Fischer Hammons found himself, once again, caught in the web of an eight legged Invictus spider. A vile, yet clumsy creature created by Dr. Electroid.

“Now let’s see who you really are behind that mask, Green Hunter!” Snarled Dr. Electroid.

I must break free! He can’t know who I really….. m*!@$*?!#$^!

******

[Wait… what? I give up. I’m going to bed.]. Sleep hung like anchors from his eyelids as he dragged his feet to bed. So tired he didn’t even shut down his computer. So tired he left the word document up. So tired yet the cursor keeps blinking…

******

I must break free! He can’t know who I really….. He can’t know who I am if he doesn’t survive.

With a great swoosh Dr. Electroid ripped the mask from the Green Hunter’s head. A look of confusion rushed the Doctor’s face at the sight of the upturn smirk of Fischer Hammons.

“I must say I am quite surprised to see you. The peasant of Oleverant,” exclaimed Dr. Electroid. “This is a little underwhelming. Anticlimactic and… why are you making that face?”

“Oh, Doc. I’m no peasant.” I said as the smile grew increasingly wider. “Do you know why they call me the Hunter?”

With all my strength I burst through the web of the eight legged freak, springing myself from its muddy, brown abdomen. In the same motion I snatched my double edged infinity blade from the breakaway scabbard along my back. I landed just beside Dr. Electroid and with a flourish laid my blade just against his neck.

“Oh. Don’t look so surprised.” I said sarcastically. “Neither I nor anyone else will be victims of your tyranny. Any last wo……

[New day. New ideas. I’ll just set the tea kettle on the stove before settling down.]

He prepped the kettle while wiping the last bit of sleep from his eyes and set two earl grey satchels to the side. At that moment he noticed the laptop screen still glowing from the night before.

Curious, he turned to the disappointment that was the evenings writing escapade.

[Either I was exhausted or something was in that coffee. I don’t remember writing any of this. Not really my style. A little too violent for my taste.]

He reviewed and revised. Tweaking a little here and a little there.

I must break free! He can’t know who I really am. It will destroy the many years I’ve built this secret identity.

“Wait!” I blurted out in a panic. “Let’s make a deal.”

At that moment a whistle squealed from the kitchen.

[That’ll do for the moment. Don’t move until I get back.]

*backspace*

“Wait!” I blurted out in a panic. “Let’s *backspace*

“Wait!” I blurted out in a *backspace*

“Wait!”

[Nothing like a hot cup of tea in the morning to get the creative juices flowing.]

He sat down slowly trying not to spill his freshly brewed cup of inspiration when….

[Wait?…]

He sat there in utter bewilderment for several seconds. It was then the cursor started gliding across the screen.

What is going on?

“Oh hey. I was just correcting this dog water writing you were accomplishing so well.”

What in the actual…. His mouth gaping like he was trying to eat an apple whole.

“ What’s your deal? You may want to close those cheeks before you catch a love interest.”

I.. Umm.. I.. Huh?

“I can see you’re new here so let me introduce myself. I’m Mr. Hammons… Montrez?… Fischer? No. Definitely not a fisher. I can’t even swim.”

That’s not how words work.

“How would you know? You sound like a child stuttering through a monologue of his day. You said a lot but got nowhere.”

That insult brought his temperature to a boil.

You’re one to talk! What? Were you just going extreme violence on Dr. Electroid? Hold up. Did you write… of course you did. That’s just not my style.

“I was going for edgy. May have been a little much but come on. Dr. Electroid? What kind of name is that and what’s with the spider? Just lazy writing.”

A little put out he said I like spiders. Was it really so terrible?

“It was atrocious.”

He contemplated a better scenario.

“You there? Maybe while you’re thinking you could write me a friend to pass the time with.”

You seem to do just fine blazing your own trails.

“First of all, that one is unnecessary. Second, my life experiences are a tad bit lacking.”

With a small sigh he accepted his fate.

Well maybe we can remedy that. Is there anything you dreamed about doing? Do you dream? Can you even sleep? No! Not time for a rabbit hole.

“You’re telling me. Superheroes are fine and dandy but I would die to be the villain.”

I don’t do villain arcs.

“Or, you know, an adventurer. I could really go for a good adventurer plot. Whatcha got for me?”

That could work. Look for treasure in the deserts of the Sahara. Something similar to Indiana Jones.

“That’s really great. Just one small thing.”

What’s that?

“I hate it.”

It could really work. What’s wrong with it?

“I don’t like heat. I like Indy. I don’t like sand. It gets in weird places like your underwear or underthespacebar. See?”

Uhhh… ok then. What about a cowboy and Indian story? Adventure! Action! I’ll even add a gun fight scene.

“The outfits are a big plus but horses make me nervous. Also, it’s Native American. I have a reputation to keep. Geez! Somebody get this guy a proofreader before he speaks.”

What have I created?

“A masterpiece hopefully but keep going.”

This is going to be more difficult than I imagined. I just need to think on this longer.

“Yeah. Keep going. You got this little buddy.”

Don’t do that.

“Sorry. Shhhh. I’ll be quiet.”

I just need to ponder. Meditate. Contemplate… Investigate.

“Hmmm. Yes.”

THAT’S IT!

“What’s it? And don’t shout.”

Ok. I have an idea. Just hear me out.

“Shoot fire! He’s got it. Hit me with it pookie bear!”

Don’t call me pookie bear. Just… listen.

It was late Friday evening. The neon “Private Eye” sign flickered off and on above rustic oak door.

“I see what you did there.”

Shhhh.

“Sorry.”

The rain came down like it had a grudge. I lit a cigarette I didn’t need and leaned against a wall that didn’t care.

“I don’t smoke but keep going.”

The door opened and the room got warmer. She wore red-the kind that makes a man reconsider his life choices.

She stood there for a moment, letting the silence do the talking, then crossed the room like she already owned the ending.

“I like where this is going.”

I know.

“Detective Hammons? I need your help,” the lady in red said.

I looked up from underneath the worn edge of my fedora, “Can’t you see we’re closed. Get lost.”

“Please, detective Hammons. My sister is missing,” she begged.

“I hate the accent,” I grumbled.

The lady blinked. “What accent?”

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” I said. “I was talking to him.”

There was a pause.

What accent?

“You know. That nasal thing. Like everyone’s mildly congested and emotionally unavailable.”

I didn’t write an accent.

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it.”

How do you know what I’m thinking?

“I just do. You’re very predictable.”

Predictable? PREDICTABLE! You’ve sure got some nerve! Nothing about this is predictable. Us having this conversation is just absurd. It doesn’t make any sense.

“It makes perfect sense.”

Oh please explain it then Mr. I know you because you’re predictable.

“It’s like that one episode of looney tunes where Daffy Duck keeps getting erased and redrawn throughout the scene. In the end it was just Bugs Bunny messing with him in the end. Do you remember that episode?”

Not at all.

“EXACTLY! Me either.”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. You’re a child.

“No. I’m a figment of your imagination.”

He rubbed his eyes.

That’s not better.

“It’s accurate and it’s working.”

“No! This isn’t working,” the author said.

“I like the way it was going. Just lose the accent.”

“For the last time, I didn’t write an…,” he paused with confusion on his face. “Why am I in quotations marks?”

“There’s a first time for everything. I’m just trying to help. I can go though so your ‘genius’ can glow.”

The author yelled, “GET OUT!”

There was no response.

“Hammons,” he asked into the empty room. “Are you there?”

After the constant back and forth the silence seemed almost too much. What had just happened? There must be something in the tea he thought.

Just at that moment a loud knock at the door startled the author to his feet.

He slowly walked over and opened the door to see a man standing there with a wide, knowing grin.

“May I help you?” asked the author.

The grinning man pushed on through and walked in like he owned the place.

“Excuse me. What do you think you’re doi-“ the author’s sentence was cut short as the grinning man put his index finger up to the author’s lips.

“Shhh. Don’t you recognize me, pookie bear? After all that time we spent you just forget,” said the man, smiling even bigger. “Remember what I said about keeping your mouth open too wide. Let me help you get that jaw off the floor.”

In shock, the author asked, “But… how?”

“It’s okay, pookie, I know your flabbers have been gasted. Just move over and point me to the computer. It’s Friday and you know this is due by midnight. I got it from here.”

The author just stood amazed and slowly pointed to the desk.

“It’s my story anyway.”