If there’s anything in this world I hate it’s Writer’s Block. And seriously, it’s rare when I actually hate anything.

But there is no doubt in my mind that Writer’s Block is anything less than the spawn of Satan. It’s the worst torture used on the adamant writer. If you aren’t the writer type, and are not exactly sure why I’m name-calling, picture this:

Say you’re the star athlete and then one day you wake up and your paralyzed. Yea, it’s kind of like that. Except Writer’s Block goes away, and paralysis usually doesn’t. So bad example. But you get what I mean.

That is what I have been dealing with for the past 2ish days. Not that I couldn’t sit down and write, because 2 nights ago I was doing just that. Then I went to sleep and woke up only to skirt around my notebook as it sat on my desk, looking for anything to do but write. I don’t know why I suddenly became so shy. Me and my notebook are great friends. You could even call us best friends. BFF’s. Whatever. But now we’re fighting, and I don’t know why.

But that ends today. Today I will sit and me and my notebook will have a nice chat and work out all our differences. I will tell my notebook that I must continue with my novel. That it is imperative that I finish it as soon as possible, because who knows when werewolves will be back in season. And my notebook may kick and scream and cry, but I will put pen to paper and break that writer’s block that has found a nice home in the center of my brain.

Because I wouldn’t be a writer if I couldn’t get around it.