Sometimes when you can’t seem to get started on your next creative piece, you tend to dwell on the block. You park yourself in front of a blank slate and zone. You have encountered another creative block.

For Dedward, the feeling turned eerie. Sitting at his Creation Station, there was an uncomfortable dread that hindered him. Staring at the utensils strewn on the table in front of him, a drop of sweat fell on the edge of his project, forming a wet semi-circle halfway down the left edge. There was an anxiety as if something unseen was holding him back…

Dedward’s stomach churned.

He felt a physical weight on his shoulders. He sat at his Creation Station in silence. Not moving, Dedward sat and stared. He listened to the tick, tick tick of the Elvis clock as the pendulum hips swung rhythmically back and forth. Tick, tick, tick… You, tick, nothing, tick, a, hound, dog…Dedward sensed a presence, but he ignored it. Tick, tick, tick…

Gradually, he became aware of arms around him. The hands of a woman with moldy blue fingers were touching Dedward’s face, caressing his cheeks. The hair on his neck bristled as he frantically reached up to grab her arms and pull them from his face. The skin on the woman’s arms was thin like paper, but pliable, and slimy beneath the surface. Her skin slid down on her bones, bunching up at her wrists in a mass of wrinkles as Dedward pulled down on her arms in a vain attempt to release himself from her grasp.

As he looked outside, he saw that the light of the day had transitioned to grays. There were no lines between the shadows and their subjects. Dedward got the sensation of something sweet, yet tart in his mouth. As he began to take it in, he wretched at the realization that one of the woman’s fingers has touched his tongue.

Dedward’s creative work now took a backseat as he struggled with the woman. Her strength was greater than his, almost superhuman.

The pungent smell of sulfur mixed with the bittersweet scent of mold permeated his nostrils. His gag reflex kicked in as Dedward used both hands to wrench the woman’s finger from his mouth. But her skin slid on the bone. There was no traction to be gained.

She now had a free hand, so the woman reached down and wrapped her arm around Dedward’s waist, her fingers groping his stomach, his chest. As he felt her body press against him from behind, he paused, taken in by the morbid seduction. Then suddenly, he turned and wrenched himself free from the woman’s grasp.

Thankfully, the door to the house was unlocked and Dedward’s momentum carried him off the porch as he hurdled into the front yard. As he ran to the street and jumped into his car, Dedward’s artistic creation returned to his mind.

The driver’s door wouldn’t latch, but instead hung open on its crooked hinge. Now free of the woman, Dedward held the door closed as he began to formulate his new creative work in his mind. Chest heaving and out of breath, Dedward began to think back to the creative block he had just come past. As he allowed his mind to drift, it occurred to Dedward that the woman was now out of the house and walking briskly toward the car.

The air became heavy and the gray of the day was conspicuous again. Now the shadows were gone and Dedward’s breathing was labored. Everything he did seemed to be in slow motion. The woman moved relentlessly toward Dedward’s car as he searched frantically for the ignition. The car was foreign to him, yet vaguely familiar. Anxiety mounted as he started the engine. He threw the car into gear and stomped on the gas.

Panic took over as Dedward realized the car was barely moving despite the fact that his foot was on the floor. As he pulled away from the curb, the rear view mirror told him the woman had made a detour and grabbed a bicycle from the front yard.

“My project, my beautiful artistic creation!” Dedward thought to himself as he wiped his eyes, now stinging from his own sweat. “Where is it? Where, oh where is it?” Despite the lack of speed attainable from the vehicle Dedward was driving, his mind was again drawn to his creative project. He began the process again, of formulating his design. As Dedward’s artistic creation progressed in his mind, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Big mistake.

He was horrified to see the woman steadily approaching on the bicycle, her moldy blue fingers gripping the handlebars. As he turned his head forward, the road ended. Heart pounding, Dedward made a u-turn and headed back toward the woman. As he did, the faulty driver’s door swung open wide allowing the woman to reach her hand into the car. She grabbed Dedward’s leg.

“Nooo…nooo!” he wailed as the moldy blue fingers scratched through his pants, touching the skin of his leg. He reached out and slammed the door on the wrinkled gray arm, but the woman clung unfazed, gripping ever tighter to Dedward’s skin. Swerving wildly, the car careening off both curbs, the bicycle fell into the street, tumbling behind the car as Dedward maintained his grip on the door handle.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Dedward continued to pound the door on the woman’s arm.

Dragging the woman, her skin skidding on the pavement, Dedward painted the street with vivid blues and greens. The skin on the woman’s arm had slid down the bone and remained bunched up, touching the skin of Dedward’s bare leg, and draping over the outside of the seat.

Dedward squeezed his eyes tightly to wring out the sweat, leaving them closed for longer than he thought he should…he thought about his creative work. He remembered that he was an artist. He pictured his paints, his canvas, his pen and laptop. He remembered…When Dedward opened his eyes, the woman had disappeared, the car door was fixed and the car was his. Everything was bursting with color and Dedward’s creative block was gone.

It cannot be over-emphasized that when you experience a creative block, don’t dwell on it! Thinking about the problem drove Dedward to think about the problem. Dedward began to pull out of his slump, only to consciously remind himself of the problem, time and again.

When you experience a creative block, it can be very troubling. It can be so troubling in fact, that we sometimes tend to dwell on the block, not on the creative. So stop dwelling on the creative block. Stop staring at the blank slate. Stand up, stretch, shake off the woman with moldy blue fingers, and get back to creating!

Canvas and Pen, http://www.canvasandpen.com offers relief for artists and writers who have encountered creative blocks. Get inspiration and motivation from articles and features specifically designed to inspire the artist and writer. Got a creative block? Relax. Kick back and motivate!

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