He tapped the keyboard, the sound of the doomladen clanking especially loud today. Flicking at imaginary crumbs on the immaculate desk, his gaze shifted around the room. Blue light streamed in through the window that overlooked the garden. He should really go and mow the lawn.
The baby gurgled to herself on the floor, chatting to the butterflies that hung above her head. And he remembered what he was doing this for. Just start, don’t over think it, he said to himself. Write the first word. Go on! But every way to start that he could imagine sounded too well-worn, cliched. He had to get this right.
The page remained stubbornly blank, as his fingers rested on the keys, paralysed. The baby was quiet now, staring at him, in that solemn, absorbed way that babies have. She broke into a beatific smile, and he felt his courage soar. He thought of how far he’d come, of what he’d achieved already. He could do this. He began to type.
Chief Constable Mills:-
I have the child.
If you want to see her again, you will need to do the following:….
When I set out to write this post, I wasn’t sure what it was going to be about. I had a few ideas but couldn’t get inspired. In the end, I just started writing about what I was doing and the things around me, until the threads of a little story began to emerge.
It’s not always so easy to write through a creative block, but this method usually works for me. Writing myself into a scene helps me to talk to my characters and ask them what they are doing and why it’s important – it’s so easy to get caught up in what you had planned, which makes it hard to figure out what you’re getting stuck on. I’ll definitely be using this more in my writing!