Writer’s Block and the Dead Pen

There he stood staring at the blank computer screen wondering if the muse would answer his call.
Glancing at the clock, he sees that he has spent more time than necessary writing nothing.

I really hate when that happens. I have been writing on and off for about ten years or so, and no nothing has ever been published, nothing at least worth noting.
I remember sitting in my room with a pen in my hand and an assignment for school looming over me like a shadow. Hours would pass and nothing would come of it.
Back then I lived in a neighborhood where violence was common, and like an idiot I would go outside in the middle of the night and just take a walk.
Once I walked out of my house at twelve am and walked, and walked, eventually I looked at my watch and it said four am. I looked around and saw that I had walked from my house to the downtown area of the city. Part of me misses that crime riddled neighborhood, and then again, part of me doesn’t.
Why are these BLOGs so hard for me to write?

If I could I would go outside and take a walk, as far as I could go, but thats just not possible.
Even when writing a story, I sometimes stop and look at the screen expecting the story to write itself, but in reality, my pen is dead, and I have writer’s block.

Writing to me is this idea that grabs me, and it keeps rolling and rolling till it over takes me, and then I sit down and begin to give the story life and liberty. I create fictional people based on some character that I met at the last party I was at, or give them a personality from one of the people I’ve known all my life, twisting their personality here and there to create a believable person.

But not today, and not yesterday.

I have to admit that I don’t hold my breath on someone publishing my stories, nor do I have delusions of grandeur, that someday I’ll be a great world wide author, I simply write to satisfy a craving in me. I love to write about anything.

Yet, I’m still left with a question that will always haunt me:

Why is my pen so silent, and why has my muse left me?

Thanks for listening,
Late
JF