Sami just stared into space. Yet again. She had her whole work area set up for high functionality- there’s the laptop with the Hemingway stickers placed appropriately on the cover, phone nearby but off for premium concentration, and of course, the proper accompaniments- headphones, latte, and a half eaten blueberry muffin. It was all picture perfect for writer on the move.

The only thing missing was the writing.

Ah yes, the writing. Sami could pontificate on any subject, would love to pick anyone’s brain at any given moment, but just... write? About anything for any length of time? Really??

Surely there’s an errand to run or a cup to refill. Anything but stare at the blank page or screen.

Pure torture.

Out of desperation, Sami turned on her cell phone and did the deed. Mom answered.

“Oh sweetie,” Mom said, after Sami poured her heart out as to her current lack of creativity. She knew she would regret being vulnerable, but couldn’t help herself.

“You’re so smart and talented, why don’t you tell that story of when the store was out of strawberries, you asked when they were getting them, and then the storekeeper found you so adorable, he asked you out? Then you had to explain how you were married and a mom, and he couldn’t believe you were old enough to have two teenagers? That’s a great story.”

“Mom,” Sami said, as the hairs on the back of her head were standing up, “that didn’t happen.”

“Sami, you just told me that story last week! I’m old but I’m not senile.”

“Mom, the strawberry guy told me to come back that evening for strawberries, not a date, I said thank you and walked away. I never said anything about my personal life.”

That’s not true, honey. I specifically remember you saying you didn’t have strawberries in the house, but had some kind of invitation for later, and that he had talked about how you looked too young to be a mom of teenagers.”

“That was you, Mom. You said he would have been shocked by my age, and how young you think I look.”

“Really? No!”

“Yeah Mom. You created the rest of the conversation that never happened.”

“Oh.” Pause. “I guess I did. Well, I like my version better. It’s way more fun.”

“More fun then what actually happened?”

“Definitely.”

“Ok. Great. Anyway. I gotta go Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye honey. Love you.”

Sami went back to her blank screen. Only now she wondered how she thought she was ever the creative one. Her mother should be writing novel after novel, since her inner life was clearly more interesting than anything that actually happened. Clearly it skipped a generation.

Or maybe her mom had enough creativity for both of them.

She started typing furiously— “I went to the grocery store this morning and they were out of strawberries, so I found somebody to ask...