The first kind of writer’s block is the dreaded blank slate. It’s that intimidating phase of creation where the entire universe of possibility is open before you, and you can’t write one shred of it because you don’t know where to even begin, perhaps even what to write at all.

I don’t often lack for ideas. But, even with some broad-storke notions of what to write, I still have to zero in on something concrete, something compelling.

The second kind of writer’s block is getting stuck in the middle of a story. You’ve got characters in some situation, and you may even have a general idea where you want them to be later in the story. But, as a writer you hit that wall and you’re not sure how to move them into the next step in the story. This kind of block has its own challenges and frustrations as a writer. But, at least  you know you’ve gotten somewhere.

Right now, I’m working on a short story and I’ve hit that second writer’s block. It’s a turning point in the story. I even know where I want the characters to be. But, I can’t yet get them there.

Some writers have great advice about overcoming these problems. Some even publish about the topic. My advice is recognize a couple important things as a writer.

First, it doesn’t much matter if you’re a literary genius or a best seller. Even if you are, you aren’t going to write or sell nothing. Accept living in your own skin. Accept your own ideas as intrinsically worthy to the most important person in your life — you.

Second, don’t try too hard to look outside yourself for solutions. Take a break. Go live. Read and watch other media. Read. Do what you do to rejuvenate. Those things will get your brain working again. Don’t worry if you feel like you’re “stealing ideas” by reading other material. If you’re really into writing, your brain can’t help itself. It will think up ideas in your own way. That is creation.

Third, if you have the option, let someone read what you’ve written so far. Some people don’t like to do this. I’m mixed on it myself. But often, another reader will see exactly the corner you’ve painted yourself into. And, often, they’ll say something obvious that you can’t see, like “Why in the world would this guy say that?” Answer that question, and the dam’s likely to break. You may have to ask questions, and that’s ok. The notion that we are alone in writing our work, and that others don’t contribute to the creation is pretty foolish.

Now, if I can just get myself out of that corner I’ve painted myself into…

Captain Molly McScowl and Her Birthday Adventure
By Matt Snyder 

Not too far away, across the seas there was a fearsome scourge of a pirate named Molly McScowl. She sailed the pirate ship Terrible under the black flag of the skull and bones. She captained a crew of thirty-three pirate boys. She struck fear into the hearts of good ship captains across the southern seas. And most importantly of all, Molly McScowl was in the third grade.

“It is a very hard thing to be a pirate captain when you are in the third grade,” Molly told her vicious crew of of thirty-three pirate boys, “I have spelling tests every Friday. How can we bury our treasure when I have spelling tests on Friday?”

“YAR!” replied her boys, which is what they said most of the time.

“And it is an especially hard thing to be a pirate captain when it is my birthday and there is no one but you sorry, good-for-nothing boys to celebrate with. Tomorrow is my birthday. Who will bring me presents and birthday cake?”

Now, Molly had a pet parrot named Goodnight who could say ninety-nine words. Fortunately, one of his words was birthday and another word was cake.

“Birthday cake!” whistled Goodnight the parrot. “Birthday cake! Yahoo!” Yahoo was also one of the ninety-nine parrot words.

“YAR!” replied her thirty-three boys. Several of the boys had eye-patches, but none of them had lost any eyes. Molly pretended not to notice when they flipped up their eye patches to look across the sea.

“Very well then,” said Molly McScowl, “since I am a pirate captain, and since I have a spelling test tomorrow, today we will sail out and find me a birthday cake.”

And so, with Goodnight the parrot perched on top of her big, black hat, Molly pointed over the horizon in hopes that out there in the wide sea was a birthday cake with her name on it. Or, at least a birthday cake with someone’s name on it that she could steal like a proper pirate and eat all herself, with maybe some frosting for her thirty-three pirate boys. When she pointed, the thirty-three boys ran all about the ship pulling ropes and heaving levers and wheels and shouting things that pirates shout. The ship Terrible creaked and moaned – but not too much – and glided toward the horizon.

Once out to sea, Molly McScowl pulled from within her polka dotted pirate coat a spyglass. She stretched out the spyglass and put it up to her eye, looking for a ship to pirate, or maybe a port to plunder. In the eyepiece, very far away, she spied what she thought was a spout of steam.

She yelled to her thirty-three boys, “Hard to the left, boys! There’s a spout of steam, and no doubt a ship to pirate!”

“YAR!” cried the boys, and they scurried about the ship pulling more ropes and turning the wheel.

“Plunder.” said Goodnight, which was one of the parrot’s ninety-nine words. “Yahoo!” he whistled.

But when the pirate ship Terrible turned hard left and sailed to the spout of steam, there was no ship there at all. Molly looked all around. “That’s funny. There’s nothing here,” she said.

Just then, a blast of sea spray shot up from water. Molly and her thirty-three boys ran to the side of the ship where they realized it wasn’t steam at all. It was the spray from the biggest whale any pirate captain has ever seen.

“Run out the cannons!” shouted Molly. “Hard to the right!” She was ready to do what good pirates do in a rush of cannons and smoke and every boy for himself.

But, before she could tell her boys to fire their cannons the whale said a friendly, “Hullo.”

Molly opened her mouth, but she couldn’t talk. The whale said hello! Even the thirty-three boys were surprised. Those who had eye-patches lifted them up to see the whale grin.

“Um, hello,” said Molly. “I’m Molly McScowl, scourge of the seas!”

“Hello Captain McScowl. You have a lovely ship. What do you call it?”

“This is the pirate ship Terrible! We sail the seas in it looking for plunder.”

“YAR!” said the thirty-three boys.

“Oh my,” said the whale. “The pirate ship Terrible? You mean the one that sank the galleons carrying all that peanut butter to the Antilles?”

“The very same,” Molly said proudly with her hands on her hips.

“And the same ship that stole all the chocolate milk from Tortuga?”

“That was us,” she said, swelling with pride.

“And the same ship that prevented all those candy canes from rounding the Cape of Horn before Christmas?

“YAR!” said the thirty-three boys, which made Molly McScowl smile.

 “Well then, I don’t think we can be friends. You see, I was planning on eating all that peanut butter. And, I love chocolate milk even more than regular milk. And, I don’t much care for candy canes, but that was just mean!”

With that, the giant whale blasted Molly and her thirty-three boys with a spout of water from his head, and dove deep down in the water. Before any of them could react – for they were thoroughly drenched with stinky, fish smelling water – the whale came up from the deep with his jaws open wide and swallowed up the pirate ship Terrible in one gigantic gulp.

Everything went dark. Never had Molly and her thirty-three pirate boys seen such pitch blackness.

“Goodnight!” squawked Goodnight the parrot. This was, of course, how Goodnight the parrot got his name. Whenever things went dark, he squawked out “Goodnight.” Right then, Molly wished he didn’t do that all the time.

 “What’ll we do?” said one of the thirty-three pirate boys. “I’m scared!” The thirty-three boys began hollering and screaming. They ran around in the darkness, bumping into each other and yelling. They were terrified of the dark, especially when the dark is inside the rather stinky, fish smelling tummy of the biggest whale any pirate captain has ever seen.

Molly McScowl didn’t want to admit it, but she was also a little afraid. She wasn’t sure how they could ever get out of the belly of this whale, and she was very worried that she might miss her spelling test the next day. Worse, she knew there was very little chance she would have any birthday cake at all.

If being a pirate captain taught her anything, it was that captaining a ship of thirty-three screaming pirate boys was impossible. It was a very hard to thing to get them to listen when they behaved as pirates should. But, when they were screaming and scared, it was hopeless. She knew she must get them to listen if any of them wanted to see daylight or birthday cake again.

First, she yelled “QUIET!” But, the boys didn’t hear her.

Then she yelled “I’m going to make you all walk the plank!” A few of the boys heard that, and they quieted down some. But most ran around hollering and screaming.

Finally, Molly McScowl, scourge of the seas, hollered as loud as she could “BOYS ARE CHICKEN!”

All at once, the boys all shouted back “WE ARE NOT!”

Molly smiled. Her trick worked. The thirty-three pirate boys forgot all about being afraid of the dark.

“Well, then, if you aren’t chicken, then I suppose you know how to steer this ship with your eyes closed,” she said.

The thirty-three pirate boys scurried off with their eyes shut. They pulled ropes and heaved levers and wheels and shouted things that pirates shout. Even though it was dark, Molly pulled from her polka-dotted pirate coat her trusty spyglass, hoping that she might see something in the whale’s tummy to sail toward. She stretched out the spyglass and put it up to her eye and spun all around. Just when she was sure there was nothing to see but dark, she spun back again and saw a tiny fleck of light. It looked like a tiny star far away, somewhere across the tummy of the whale.

“Hard to the left, boys!” she ordered. “I see a tiny bit of light.”

The boys scrunched shut their eyes. They pulled more ropes. They spun the wheel hard left. The pirate ship Terrible creaked and groaned – but not too much – and glided toward the light. As they got closer, the light grew bigger and brighter until Molly and her thirty-three pirate boys could see many lights flickering in the dark. Then with a hard thud, the pirate ship Terrible came to a crashing halt.

“Land ho!” said Goodnight the parrot, still perched on Molly’s hat.

Molly tucked away her spyglass and leaped overboard onto an island of junk. It was a pile of wrecked ships, old tires, some boots without laces, seaweed, empty jars of peanut butter and cartons of chocolate milk, and a million smelly old fish bones. Way up on top of the heap of junk there were a hundred flickering lights. And, now that she was ashore, Molly could see an old man standing next to the lights. Molly climbed up the heap, and her thirty-three pirate boys followed.

“Ahoy there,” creaked the old man’s voice. He wore a big black hat, and white tufts of hair poked out from underneath it. He was very old indeed.

“Ahoy,” Molly said. Then she saw that the lights were a hundred candles on top of a strange looking cake. “Who are you?”

“Why, I’m Billy McCringe, and I’m a pirate captain like yourself, from the looks of your polka dotted coat and black hat. Nice parrot.”

“Thank you,” said Molly. “Well, Captain McCringe, what in the world are you doing here?” Molly asked.

“It’s my birthday, of course! I’m ninety-nine today, and I’ve made this cake for myself. It’s mostly peanut butter, with only a few fish bones inside. As you know, it is a very hard thing to be a pirate captain.”

“Tell me about it,” said Molly as she rolled her eyes.

“And it’s an especially hard thing when you’re ninety-nine and don’t have a birthday cake, nor anyone to share it with, not even a bunch of sorry, good-for-nothing boys. So it’s a good thing you all showed up when you did. Care for a piece?”

“YAR!” cried the boys, and they swarmed all around the old pirate captain and his birthday cake, licking their lips.

“To tell you the truth, we set out looking for just such a cake, if you can believe it. I am a pirate captain. I’m Captain McScowl. And, my ninth birthday is tomorrow. I’d happily take that cake from you. But, I’m much more worried about ever getting out of this whale. I have a spelling test tomorrow! But now I’m going to be here forever.”

“Well, there are worse things,” said Billy McCringe.

“Like what?” asked Molly. But the old captain just shrugged.

“Tell you what, Captain McScowl. My wish came true before I could make it. You make a wish and blow out these candles. A pirate captain like yourself should have no trouble blowing ninety-nine candles, I can tell you.”

Now, Molly was quite sure Captain McCringe was crazy. But she decided to try, because there wasn’t much else she could do. Besides, the thirty-three pirate boys would probably go bonkers again if they didn’t soon have cake. So Molly closed her eyes and thought and thought. She thought of all the things she could wish for, like a big cannon to blast her way out of the whale, or a new ship named Terrible Too to take over the seas, or even the biggest birthday cake any pirate captain has ever seen. And then she thought of something she really wanted. Something that might even get her out of this mess.

I wish I do well on my spelling test tomorrow, she thought to herself. Then she took in three great big breaths and blew out the ninety-nine candles like a lantern in a squall.

Everything went dark.

“Goodnight!” squawked Goodnight the parrot.

The next day, Molly McScowl took her third grade spelling test and did quite well. She missed only one.

I floundered around for ideas, but the one I couldn’t keep out of my head was simple and straightforward. I think it’ll become part of a larger piece I put together. It’s about a guy who comes back to Iowa because his Dad’s been missing for months, and he needs to put his Dad’s things in order. I’m still working on even the very short vignette, but I surprised myself with some details:

The refrigerator thrummed needlessly. Mitch stood, scratching his torso beneath his wrinkled white tee, staring at the empty wire racks. Only a paper plate sprinkled with baking soda remained. His sister Julia had cleaned the house in the summer, when the rotten things within had shriveled, forgotten and neglected in those strange weeks when everyone they knew trekked through the spring mud expecting any moment to find Charlie Hammond’s dead body. When they all stopped looking Mitch went back to work and Julia spent a day throwing out her father’s foil-covered Tupperware filled with mold and muck and pouring out a slush of milk that curled in her nostrils and reached down to yank at her insides. She drank one of her daddy’s last beers – a Michelob Light –  alone, sobbing on the kitchen floor until school let out for the day.

The elevator door opened up. There, three co-workers, all women, leaned against the walls, waiting for their floor. I stood between them all, staring at the numbers above the door in silence. The doors opened up.

“Excuse me.” The blonde woman stepped off, lugging her bag behind.

The doors closed, and the elevator dinged another floor. I squeezed to the back, to lean against the wall myself. I think we all like to tell ourselves it’s because we get off last. The truth is we’re uncomfortable seeing the same strangers everyday, never saying a word. As I settled against the brushed steel wall, the women shifted away from me. It had entered their no wake zone.

The brunette broke the sullen silence that hung in the air like the morning’s frost.

“How are you, Trish?” said the woman leaning against the back of the elevator. Her jewelry jangled, and her fringed coat caught my eye.

“I’m old.” She sighed. Her face looked pained, and dark lipstick covered a tired scowl.

“I left my coat in the car. I hate coats,” Trish said.

“I do too,” said the fringed-coated woman frantically. Her jewelry jangled again, like a belly dancer’s sash.

“It’s part of the reason I hate winter,” Trish said

She heaved herself off the elevator wall and onto the third floor. They exited together in their misery. Quietly, I watched the fringed coat, its tassles dancing to the jangling noise, disappear as the elevator doors closed.