I’ve been sitting at my desk — my favourite place to write — for the past four hours.
Four hours!
Typing the opening line to my next work of fiction; then delete, delete, delete.
Over and over again.
I could cry. Rarely do I suffer from writers block, but today seems to be the day.
Mum walks into my room. ‘I’ve been hearing your loud sighs son. Do you need some material to help with your stumbling block?”
With that, she sits beside me and begins reciting stories of her colourful life — and bam, my creative juices begins to flow.
“Thanks Mum.”
I was challenged to write a drabble of the word 'material'.
Wikipedia defines a drabble as follows :
A drabble is a short work of fiction of precisely one hundred words in length. The purpose of the drabble is brevity, testing the author's ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in a confined space.
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Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
Keep reading
More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders6 days ago in Fiction
Down the Aisle
I often wonder what life would have been like. If it’s possible to even conceive it without you, or to imagine any other universe, any other thread of reality where we didn’t make sense. The same answer dances throughout my mind like a flowing dress in a field full of flowers. No. It could never make sense, you and I apart, because what would life be then? The faint memories of feint love linger not as wounds but as lessons on what love could never be. Remnant cuts from failed attempts scar my soul, and yet, they brought me to you. I could not be more thankful for those mistakes. You gave me purpose, you gave me peace, you showed me love that may forever keep.
By Keb Rogers5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
See, you thought of this wonderful story when you saw the word "material". But when I saw it, the first thing that came to my mind was material for masturbation 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I'll show myself out now hahahahahahahahahaha. Loved your drabble!
Writers understand this; we write, delete, restart, delete... Simple and relatable. Good job!