Writer's Block-Er-Cise

"What does that mean?" You asked.
It means to stop writer's block before it takes
hold, never have it, leave it at your neighbor's
house, or forget what the two words mean.
"That's impossible." You stared at the copy.
Let's start the process of eliminating writer's
block from your space.
Type, write down the first word your eyes see, or
the memory of a situation.
Ginger is my word. Think of five other G words.
Your list should have six G words to begin with.
My six are: ginger, goose, George, gone, gobble,
and grind.
The six can melt into poems, fiction, or non-
fiction.
The poem derived from my list, off the top of my
head.
Play
George and Ginger went out to play
They chased a big turkey
Ginger gobbled
George toppled
Slid on grinds
They were home
When their mom came lookin'.
The following can enhance a fiction paragraph,
beginning, or any story-line.
George and Ginger jumped in puddle after puddle,
twirled around in the rain storm.
"Mommie isn't gonna like that we played in the
rain."
"C'mere, I stepped on somethin'." George ignored
Ginger's comment.
"Let's go home." Ginger turned to leave.
"It's big."
"You look, George."
They stood there, debating as lightening startled them.
Ginger rushed over to George, grabbed a black box,
and ran home.
After George and Ginger were tucked in for the night,
Ginger reached under her bed for the black box.
With box in hand, she tipped to George's bedroom.
It fell. She searched quietly for it. Up and down
the hall, she crawled around the floor.
"Be quiet." George opened his bedroom door, joined
her.
"I dropped the box."
A corner of the hallway glowed. The black box slowly
opened...
My excerpt can be changed to fit an existing work or
plot. The only limit is my, your, imagination.
"How can six words help write non-fiction?" You
questioned.
Pick one or more of your words as a jumping-off-point
for writing.
I picked Ginger as a possible essay.
Ginger is a flavor wake-up, agent, spice for food.
It's pickled, candied...
Lastly, how a situation is turned into writing
material.
I was, unjustly, fired from a job. I detailed some
of the events in my novel, Grave Street House.
Try my technique. It will cure you of writer's
block. Let me know how you were able to benefit
from Writer's-Block-Er-Cise. Or, advise me if it
didn't work for you. Believe in yourself.

Published Author

Those two words associated with me seems unreal.
It was a long journey.
Well, writing the novel was enjoyable. There was
always a paragraph that dragged the story along,
run-on sentences needed tucking, or the scene(s)
called for more suspense.
I found someone to critique it, but she was
costly. So, the manuscript laid around while I
fiddled with poem writing.
My mind wandered back to my novel. I read through
chapters, not sure if it would get published.
I enrolled in a writing, mail-order, course.
After completion, the instructor recommended, to
the school, whether or not to publish a student's
work.
Sadly, I missed the cut. I felt sorry for myself,
continued working on it.
I required assistance. I contacted an agent, sent
him the manuscript. He returned it, told me to work
on it. I plucked and added to improve it, but
concluded, after phone calls, the agent was more
concerned with fees. We went our separate ways.
I took the writing course, again. My novel
failed industry standards.
Agent number two explained that my manuscript
was rejected, but never tips on making it better.
She didn't tell me why the rejection slips. She
wanted money a third time, and I had enough. I
asked for my manuscript back.
Once again, the manuscript and I were left
alone.
I read fiction in the genre, and other writing
related information. I felt bad, but knew the
manuscript was worthy.
I looked for a publisher until it happened.
My novel, Grave Street House, is for sale at
thedigitalword.com.
You, simply, have to believe in yourself.
*******************************************

An excerpt from my novel, Grave Street House.
When I walked onto my street heads bobbed and turned,
some people cried. They knew the horror awaiting him. A
few drifted into their places of security. The homeless intruder
wobbled, stumbled on his way into the House. They reacted
with clear warnings to stay out. He ignored them. He,
slowed down, whirled his head toward me with fear in his eyes.
I motioned with my hand for him to come back. I rushed closer
to the House, forced my way through the mob of people.