Writer's Block

After my last post earlier tonight (see introduction below), I finally broke out of my funk. Either that or I dove deeper into it. You decide.

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It’s a beautiful spring evening. Although low on the horizon, the sun is still dangling in the sky. The season is young, only in its second week. Lineups are exchanged, the Anthem is sung and the umpire calls out, “Play Ball!” Staring intently at his catcher, the veteran pitcher winds up and delivers his first pitch.

“Strike one!” the umpire announces. A young rookie standing at the plate is taken aback. That was his pitch. He should have had it. Regaining his composure, the rookie scrapes his cleats against the red dirt and settles in, his mind’s eye envisioning a heroic swing. A second pitch is hurled his way. This one looks good. It is exactly what he is waiting for.

“Strike two!” the umpire yells. A set back. That’s all it is. He’s still got one more chance. The tension builds as he prepares for the next phase of this confrontation. He knows this is do-or-die time.

That’s how I feel right now. When I started my own confrontation, the sun was still lingering in the sky. It has now set and the evening is quickly passing me by. Mine is not a physical match up between me and another accomplished athlete. Rather, it is a battle between me and my computer. No, it is not a video game. It’s not even solitaire. My confrontation is between me and the blank screen. No words grace its white facade. No eloquence has streamed from my fingers to the page. No one chuckles as they read a quippy punch-line.

Tonight my mind is blank. Several hours ago I sat waiting for the first pitch to arrive. If I was patient long enough, it would come to me. It would be an idea that I could take a swing at. I settled in and waited. The pitcher was taking too long, so I stepped out of the batter’s box for a moment to eat dinner. I settled back in and waited some more. Then it came. An idea fluttered across my mind: Simple things we make complicated. I took a swing at it and missed by a mile. “Strike one!” the umpire shouted as I planted my right index finger on the delete button.

“That’s okay,” I said to myself. “I’m not out yet.” Shaking off the setback, I stepped back up to the plate. The next pitch would be my pitch. I waited. It came. One of the kids said something cute. I swung. I missed. “Strike two!”

Delete. One more chance. The umpire calls time out. The crowd is too noisy. Actually it’s my daughter crying in her crib. I step out of the box to try to calm the crowd. I fail. The coach (Mom) takes over.

Now here I am waiting once again. An idea has come my way. An idea to write about not writing. It’s not a ball. It’s not a strike. Maybe a foul ball at best. At least it’s contact. If I sit here long enough, several things could happen. I could take another swing and strike out or I could hit a home run. Or I could keep on hitting foul balls all night.

Let’s take one more swing. Maybe the problem is that I am actually the pitcher. I stare intently at my catcher (the computer). I grip the ball tightly in my hand, my fingers covering the seams. I let the pitch fly. At the last minute, the ball curves and the catcher misses it. Ah ha! There it is. It is actually the computer’s fault. I’m sending it perfect pitches and it is the one dropping the ball. Now I feel better. At least I’m not dull after all. Foul ball.

One more try. I’m the coach. I am sending signals to the batter. I tap my head, stroke my arm, and pinch my nose. The batter (you, the reader) stares back blankly and yawns. I repeat the signal, this time with more finesse. Blank stares. I try to dress up the boring message with twists and turns, but the batter (you, the reader) yawns again. “Strike three!”

Oh well. Even the best players strike out sometimes. Maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow.