Solving Writer's Block

Erin woke with a start. The moonlight fell on the edges of her father’s “work of hands”; a hand-carved writing desk and chair. The gift, presented fifteen years earlier, was meant as a nod to a dream – the book. She tried and was still trying, but faltered each time.

- You think you are so smart, she would say to herself. -But this has been done before.

Her heart beat through her chest as she listened intently through the darkness to nothing. Though something must've happened loud enough to wake the sound sleeper. She had to investigate in order to fall asleep again. Shedding light on the subject, she grabbed an old house coat from the bottom of the four poster bed and grabbed a flashlight from the top dresser drawer.

The centuries-old house, a part of her inheritance, became her residence two weeks earlier. She hadn't yet had time to learn all its creeks. So, she started at the bottom reserving the flashlight for the attic search. By the time she was finished with the lower floors, her anxiety had turned to excitement. The tomboy poked her head through the hole in the attic floor.

-Welcome to my domain.

The voice had no origin, but the same something unseen pushed her forward as the voice continued its one-sided conversation

-I'm sorry I had to wake you, but I was getting desperate. My story NEEDS to be told and I have been waiting eons for a writer, however amateur.

What looked like years of research stood in stacked boxes around the edge of the room. She nodded, knowing that she would want her story told, and calmly left. Now wide awake, she set to work at the writing desk for the first time in months.