Breaking Up with Writer's Block

 "Write a letter breaking up with your Writer's Block."
---

Dear Writer's Block,

It's probably underhanded to do this in a letter. You deserve better from me, but this is the best I can give you. I really want you to know that it's not you, it's me.

I know we've been together for such a long time, but it's just not working for me. I feel stifled - I need some space to try my own thing.

I'm really sorry to do this to you. We had a good run. I hate to hurt you over something so silly. Sometimes I felt like you didn't understand my need to increase my wordcount. I'm sure sometimes you felt I didn't understand your need for my complete attention. We just weren't very well matched.

I want you to go find someone who's a better fit for you. You're really nice when you try. I'm sure you'll find someone new.

I suppose that this is goodbye, then.

Wishing you all the best,
Elle

Rejection Rejection

"Most of us have received a rejection letter at one time or another. Write a rejection letter to a rejection letter, explaining why you find it unsatisfactory."

---

Hello Marcus,

Thank you for your kind attention to my submission to All Things You Need To Know for the October issue. While I am grateful for your quick reply, I'm afraid that you may not have read the poem in question. You referred to there being "no need at this time for ballads about insects," when clearly Ode to a Slug is neither a ballad, nor is it concerned with insects.

This being the case, I'm sure if you give Ode to a Slug a close reading (preferably after 9 PM and half a glass of red wine) you'll see that it really does fit well with your October theme for All Things You Need To Know, "Mysteries of Time."

I hope this read-through will help you see the true beauty of Ode to a Slug, as I do.

Awaiting your reply,
A. Clement

"Legal" Rewrite

"Do you have a better idea?" Ares frowned at his daughter, disliking the idea that a 13-year-old girl might think she could do his job better than he could. Well, the fact that she thought she could wasn't what bothered him. It was the fact that she might be able to do it.

A smirk played about her mouth. "Yeah. Why don't you just send him to the school nurse? He skipped the school physical." The girl tilted her head back to squint up at her tall, broad, muscular father. A police officer. He had been a bounty hunter when she was younger, and she thought that was cooler. Fewer rules, probably.

"The school physical exam is optional. I can't make him submit to it if he doesn't want to." He sighed. This was an idea he'd already had. Sinking into his chair, he tried to squash the conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment.

Organic Machine

I have heard the Smart Ones say that the human mind is an organic machine. That it's the most complex computer ever to have existed - possibly, that ever will exist. I've heard them say similar things about most parts of the human body. The ones that disagree, that say they could do better, usually fail.

The paper in my hand is stiff with dried water and grit. The Smart Ones still have access to some of the Old Things, the machines that fly through the air and send data across continents in a blink and generate hundreds of pages that look exactly alike. Mostly, the only machines we use are in our skulls.

Dream

Under most circumstances, when I wake up in the middle of the night and scribble out parts of a dream that I want to remember, I read over them in the morning and wonder to myself "what in the world is this?" This may be partially because my handwriting in the dark isn't all that great. In this particular case, I don't think the dream would make a very good book, but it might have some concepts that could be recycled for other purposes. That's what dreams are for, right?
---

She could feel the ridges under her fingers, even after the goosebumps started to fade. It had been scary enough, seeing the Thing they had called on to guide them for their festival. It had only been right to interrupt and send it away. None of them had agreed. It was only Callo's intervention that had saved her from being trampled by the mob.

"Legal"

"Do you have a better idea?"
"Yeah. Why don't you just send him to the school nurse? He skipped the school physical."
"The school physical exam is optional. I can't make him submit to it if he doesn't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because that's not legal."
"Why?"
"Aren't you too old for that question?"
"No."

Still Night

The night tells secrets the day can only dream of. Without words, the scent of the cool pre-dawn breeze can paint an image in the mind's eye, coupling with the symphony of rustling leaves, giving birth to an entirely new entity that exists entirely in the thick, foggy consciousness that hovers between the waking and sleeping worlds. She lay in the darkness, her face bathed in the soft light from her open window. Strong, German features were dipped in shadow, the hollows of her eyes glimmering in the shade of her hooked nose. In the silver light, it was hard to tell what color her shirt was, let alone her hair or eyes. But those eyes, that should have been held shut by dead-bolted dreams and triple-locked fantasies, were open and staring. What she thought she saw was unclear, but she was staring directly into the face of a man that shouldn't have been there.