As I pace the room and rack my brain, I feel the gears turning and outputting nothing but the dark smoke of frustration. I’ve been at this for hours and I am no closer to a conclusion.

I’ve tried all my old tricks. I’ve gone for a walk: nothing.

I’ve listened to music: nada.

I’ve even, in my desperation, resorted to the classic Google search, “How to overcome writers block” tried several of the resulting “solutions” and guess what: goose egg.

In frustration, I slam my hand against my desk only to knock over the last quarter of the whiskey I had been sipping on. The liquor spreads across the desk, throwing the tell-tale alcohol smell that burns in my nostrils.

A fluorescent sticky note with some action items from work lays in the path of the coming tide. Too late to save it I watch as the dark ink runs, dissolving in a web pattern. Few things can dissolve like alcohol.

Then, as I stared at the sticky note, a flutter of color lights the idea center of my brain. It’s faint and undefined but there is definitely something there. I concentrate hard on the sticky note, burning the image into my head until I am seeing behind it.

Closer to the ethereal world beyond physical vision where writers live, the fledging idea bursts alight, filling me with the strange anxiety and euphoria of a new story waiting to be brought to life.