Writer’s Block, Grocery Store Edition

He just wanted some coffee. He had been on a roll, churning out page after page or brilliance, when he ran out of gas. His character was left hanging with no options.

Think. Think.

But no thoughts came to him.

Coffee! Perhaps caffeine is all I need, he thought, having been up for about 60 hours straight. So suffers the writer.

He had run out of coffee by hour #55. It was an emergency.

He struggled to stay awake at the red lights en route to the grocery, but he made it, mostly with muscle memory.

He got out of his car, locked it, and approached the automatic doors. A man with a butcher's apron held out a hand.

"Sorry, sir," said the man.

"What's the problem?" he asked. It was obvious he wasn't going to allow me into the grocery.

"You're a writer, aren't you?" he asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "How did you know?"

"You're showing, not telling."

"Oh."

"And no writers allowed," he said sternly.

"Again? Damn!" This was the third grocery in a row with an official Writer's Block.

Time for a nap.