Writing Block Novels & Stories

⊱♥⊱╮ღ SWEET TEASERS ღ╭⊱♥≺ ★✎✎★~KOFI'S POV~★✐✐★ I'm out of ideas! I don't know what to do. I'm making the last manuscript for this year, and the deadline is already near. I wish they give me something to inspire. Having writer's block is suck! Let me close my eyes and think. Then suddenly, I wake up in an unfamiliar place.

And one page containing a single sentence written in neat, careful handwriting. Tomorrow.

Elowyn shut her door hard, the latch clicking into place like a final breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her satchel dropped to the floor. She stumbled to her desk, yanked out the battered book and a small pot of ink, her hands moving too fast, almost frantic. The quill scratched to life against the page. "Dear Mia, I couldn't write for some days now. Please, forgive me. I thought I'd go mad if I tried to. Everything presses down, everything swallows. I am losing my head-losing myself-"

Writer's block came at the worst possible time. Example, right now I wanted to prove to Michele and that muppet that called himself Alessio that I was capable of staying on my own. I had slapped and knocked myself, had pressed the backspace key a thousand times, and had grunted all I could. Yet, all I could show off was a paragraph. Don't even get me started on the dreaded blinking cursor. Alessio…. Fuck. No way. I rather died than succumbed to defeat.

Or maybe, no words could define the thoughts I want to substantiate. But sometimes, I would remember the words I read somewhere. It says, ' a great story takes time '. And then it would help me start bleeding in writing again. Facing writer's block, writing insecurities, and procastination are what I kept working with. I am trying to befriend them and I am trying the very best I could just to finish another art I will treasure until my time comes. “Yeah, but they are already old, buddy. Need to change them.” I stated as I picked the one in the left side.

" With that, he wrapped his arm around Susan's waist and walked upstairs. Susan leaned against his chest before turning to look at me with a hint of triumph in her eyes. I slowly crouched. The marble floor was icy-cold. I picked up a sharp shard and pressed my fingertip against the edge, letting it pierce through my skin. Bright, vivid blood seeped out. It hurt terribly, but the pain cleared my mind.

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Part 4: Reunited Eliot scratch his forehead in annoyance. He's stuck. He's been typing, retyping and deleting it beforehand on his laptop. He cant formulate a sentence– or even words like he wanted to. He's mind is completely blank. Writers block. The writers and authors like him number one's enemy. He sigh in defeat. This wont do. His mind is not cooperating with him. His deadline is almost coming. He needs inspiration or anything. But the last time he experience this, something unexpected happened and he doesn't want to repeat that again. Transferring inside the book sucks.

I just wanted to start, to let the words come, however clumsy they were. Every now and then, my mind wandered back to the kitchen The memory still stung, but I forced myself to keep my pen moving. One sentence, then another. Slowly, the tightness in my chest eased, and I realized writing was actually helping. It didn’t erase the scene from my head, but it dulled it enough for me to breathe. Not long after, my door creaked open. Maybe I heard a knock first, maybe I didn’t, I couldn’t tell. I looked up to see Noah leaning in.

His fingers curled around the pen, slow and trembling, like a child learning a language for the first time. Lydia’s chest felt like it was being crushed. “It can wait, Noah. Please.” His eyes flicked to her—sharp, determined, and terrifyingly clear. He didn't have time for "later." She nodded, tears blurring her vision. “Okay.” He began to write. The first line was a struggle; the pen dragged unevenly across the paper, leaving jagged, messy marks. But the words were there. Hayes — Morning Routine Lydia’s breath hitched. Noah paused, drawing a ragged breath, then pushed forward.