Writer's Block

By Greg Krojac

A short story writer is given a writing prompt and sits down at his computer to start writing, but his mind has gone blank. However, he receives help from an unexpected and absurd quarter in overcoming this debilitating hurdle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Krojac
• Release date: Mar 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393071969

Greg Krojac

Born in 1957, Greg Krojac grew up in Maidenhead, England. He is the author of nine published novels: the dystopian Recarn Chronicles trilogy (comprising of Revelation, Revolution, and Resolution), the post-apocalyptic love story The Boy Who Wasn’t And The Girl Who Couldn’t Be, the foreboding First Contact novel, Immune, and the Sophont trilogy (The Girl With Acrylic Eyes, Metalheads & Meatheads, and Reuleaux’s Portal). He is also writing a Mad Max style series of novellas, the first of which has been published as Judd’s Errand. He ventured outside of the science fiction genre recently to write a comedy-horror novella, WTF? And in addition, has published a short story Oppy about the fate of the Mars Opportunity Rover. His most recent work is a scifi thriller titled The Weatherman. He currently lives just outside the city of Salvador da Bahia, Brazil, with his partner, Eliene, and their dog, Sophie, and two cats, Tabitha and Jess, and teaches English as a foreign language (TEFL) at a local language school.

Book preview

A SHORT STORY BY

GREG KROJAC

This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Please note that this story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2020 Greg Krojac

All rights reserved

Greg’s mind was blank, completely devoid of thoughts. Well, relevant thoughts, anyway. He knew what he had to write about – he’d been given a writing prompt – but that was as far as he’d got. He didn’t usually work from writing prompts; he normally had an idea in his mind – an original thought that originated from he knew not where – before sitting down at his desk and starting to write. It was an almost magical process as if his chair, the desk, or even his computer already contained the story and he simply provided the conduit which allowed the story to escape from wherever it had been nestling.

But this time was different. The chair, desk, and computer seemed to be bereft of ideas. As, ipso facto, was his mind.

He took a sip of water from the glass tumbler that was his constant companion whilst writing. It wasn’t there to alleviate dryness in his throat – it wasn’t as if he needed his voice to write – but his wife had threatened him with dire punishment if he didn’t drink at least six glasses of water each day. He preferred his water chilled but, of course, it couldn’t remain in that condition forever. Room temperature would eventually force its way into the glass and the water therein would lose its refreshing sensation, becoming at one with its surroundings – thermally speaking.

Tabitha, his ingeniously named tabby cat, leapt onto his desk. The