She just sat there, empty faced, her light blue eyes staring at the keys, the untouched piano keys. She used to be able to do this in her sleep. All she would think about was new ideas and melodies for songs. Her notebooks overflowing with her thoughts and imagination. Now all at once, when she needs it most it fails her. She couldn’t play a note. Pondering why only frustrated her more. The only thing she felt she could do is wait.
Annoyed and exhausted, she picked up her phone. Yeah haha! Listen, I’ll talk to you later I have to go ? Send. Her boyfriend is a sweet heart but she is far too consumed. Her voice is so unique and her skills so sharp, she’s a happy person not annoyingly happy but, content. She’s not a shy girl, nor is she a lonely girl. Just uninspired.
“Two more days” she grumbled. Knowing she has to perform this soon only made it worst. This is what she wants to do with her life but not in this way. Rushed and passionless. Suddenly she remembered she didn’t do her math homework. Untwisting the strains of her long brown hair she had been playing with, she glanced down at the blank page, “I’ll do this tomorrow.” The stress brushed off but only for the night.
The next day wasn’t any better, sitting at lunch with her pen and pad. So many distractions distracting her from her struggle. The last bell rings and she is set free to go home and painfully try to write a masterpiece. For she is a perfectionist.
“There you are!” her 6 year old brother exclaimed, welcoming her home for the day. “Sammy! How was your day?” she asked in her ‘child voice’. “Good and you”, “Great! Mine was OK”. This conversation continues into the piano room or lately thought as the torture chamber. “Play me a pretty song!” Sam demanded. “I would but I can’t I’m sorry”, “Why you always do!” Feeling pressured she responded “I have to write a song, have the keys perfected and sound wonderful by Friday because I have to sing it for a lot of important people and I feel like I don’t know how to play piano, write a word or sing a note Sammy, that’s why!” The room echoed. Her brother had a smile on his face. Confused as to why, she asked considered “Why are you smiling?” “Because” he said holding back a giggle attack, “Just write about that big dummy”. Then it hit her, being a writer is about reaching out to the listeners and relating them to similar situations in your life. She kissed her brother on his head and ran to her paper. “Writer’s Block” she wrote in huge handwriting followed by 2 verses, a chorus and a bridge.