Chasing the Absent Breakthrough

This story is one that I did when I was actually stuck myself. I found that by just getting out all of my fears when it came to writing actually helped me out a lot. Thanks for reading!

It’s been three months, one week, seventeen hours, and thirty two seconds since I wrote anything. As a career writer it’s my job to place words onto paper for others to enjoy. If I’ve already been published, why can’t I write? Even now I can feel the seconds tick by me. Thirty four, thirty five. Each moment an eternity of agony in which I beg for inspiration to receive a steady paycheck. The phone rings beside me, on the s****y bedside table I’ve had since I moved into my apartment. In neat glowing letters it reads; Howard Morgan. Damn. I consider not even picking up the phone. Just rolling back over into the other side of my bed would be so much easier than having to deal with him. Unfortunately I’m not a coward.

Howard greets me in his usual fashion, anxious. “Hey champ! How’s my star today, shining bright?” He’s way too eager, almost bursting, and that can only mean one thing. He promised to be clean, but I guess he gave it up here recently.

“Yeah Howard. I’m just sitting here, finishing up the first draft of my new novel.” I can hear his ears perk up from nearly halfway across the continent.

“Oh? What’s the title of this elusive best seller?” It’s just like when I finished Fortune’s Cross last year. So predictable.

“I haven’t really settled on a title yet Howard but I’m considering deeming it...” I pause for a moment for the first real progress that I’ve had since three months, one week, seventeen hours, and eighty four seconds ago. Nothing is coming out. Come on, think of something you stupid son of a b***h.

“I’m most likely going to call it Hostile Expansion.”

“What’s it about?”

Howard says those horrible three words aloud. A question I’ve asked myself a million times now. I decide to play it coy so he doesn’t suspect me.

“A magician never reveals his secrets Howard. Give me a few weeks and I’ll have Mary send over a draft ok?” He’s nodding now, which is good. Typical Howard finishes with a hasty goodbye to continue doing whatever vice he’s on now. I roll over to face the bane of my existence. It’s a blank screen with that small blinking cursor on the first blank page of my grand american novel. Yeah, at this point I’m wondering if I’ll ever finish anything. Of course I sit up in my bed, way too much effort, and bumble over to my creaky chair I bought in college.

These four beige walls constrict my breathing to the point that I can’t even think straight. This off white color carpet shears through the bottom of my feet, and the heat from a Nebraskan summer presses in on me. I think this is how I’ll die but that’s fine with me. Five months, eight weeks, two hours, and nine seconds since I wrote anything. I’m looking up at a ceiling fan again, that blinking cursor pounds me relentlessly on the screen I think I will split in half. Thankfully, the bottle of Atarax is here to balance me out. I take my dedicated two pills to feel it’s slow burn in my stomach.

I pull up the shades for the first time since I nearly jumped through them two months ago. The streets are still somewhat clean, the people still walk nonchalantly down the street with no real aim. Couples hold hands in passion, families giggle with a small child running around them. Happy people walking down mediocre streets for lives that most likely matter more than mine. None of what I do seems to have any effect on the world. All I am is a bargain bin book at Wallmart, I can even picture the cover. Fortune’s Cross is written in a smooth gold lettering over a glittering skyline. Beneath it is my name, and the books tagline. “Tom Ballick is a two bit thug with a mafia boss dream. But now he goes straight to the top.”

On a whim I flip through the pages of my bargain bin throw away. It’s been on my shelf for so long I nearly forgot it even existed.

Tom Ballick heaved the limp body into the barrel, drizzled gas on it until it was nice and soaked, then tossed the match in.

It was actually the last thing I had written before submitting it to Sun Pearl Publishing, where Howard as all too enthusiastic to greet me. Dull white teeth to match his muddy yellow two piece suit. His chubby face had a halo of unwashed hair around his head to complement a hook nose, and a forty year old obese body. He’s what I imagine to be what human fake smile would look like. One or two more pills. Just to make sure that I’m not shaky in a few hours.

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve written anything. The gun was bought for defence, but now its starting to call out to me. I’ll find myself with it in my mouth in the middle of the night with no memory of even taking it out. My memory isn’t quite up to snuff--

Doors open nice and smooth. I draw quickly enough to take out the first guard. It’s an easy thing to do. Point and click for who knows who much money, what the--

CNN flickers on as Howard kicks back in his chair. He wonders, how long he’s spent here waiting for his clients submission. Then the story breaks, the lovely Asian reporter looking nervous. The frosted mug he kept just for his man cave shatters on the cement floor he never cleaned. She keeps her tone steady, bless her heart.

“--five dead, including the gunman. It is suspected to be the author of Fortune’s Cross. Police have yet to release any further details.”

Two years, one month, fourteen hours, and one...two...three...seconds.

Author's Note

Thank you for taking the time to review my stuff, it helps me out a lot. For this story I would like to know if where I went with this story is obvious and concise. Any spelling or grammar errors are welcome as well. It's the only way I'll improve.
Have at it guys.

Reviews

[C. Rose]

I did not see that coming. I really wanted something to save the author, but the ending you chose is powerfully sad. Now writer's block feels eerie and not merely frustrating. I think I'll go write something right now to make sure I can. I'd hate to be in that room.

Great escalation. I liked the consistent counting of the time. Well penned.

[A Watcher In Time]

Awh shucks. Thanks C.Rose.

[FNG]

Different from what I normally see. You have your own style which is not something many authors can claim. Honestly, could only guess at what the ending was going to be. Turned out to be right, but was still a little surprised.

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you, always appreciated.

[Jennie Baron]

Where you were going with the story was concise obvious but not too obvious, which makes for a fantastic tale! It has a nice creepy edge. Congratulations on a well deserved contest win.

Since you ask about spelling and grammar errors, I noticed a couple of things:

Wallmart s/b Walmart

"Its" starting to call out to me s/b it's

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much, always appreciate a review.

[Mila]

Congratulations on this story's win in the Need Reviews? I contest! It was well earned!

-Mila

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much.