Writer’s Block

She felt the pen cutting into her fingers. It had been 45 minutes. No, maybe an hour. The page was an ugly shade of white. There was dull blue ink on her finger tip, but not a speck of it on the paper. The annoying clock made a noise to signal the new hour, as if it didn’t care about her. Just as she thought a spurt of creativity had come, the phone rang. She didn’t bother to answer it. Her page finally had one word on it – hello.

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