She sat, pen poised above the paper. She took a deep breath… Okay, okay.

…Up, for a different pen, a better canvas, a glass of water to keep alongside, close enough for her knuckles to graze when her words reached the right-hand margin of the notebook. …If she ever reached the right-hand margin of the notebook. It wasn’t looking good, after all. Was there enough water in the glass? Didn’t she need a napkin, in the case the water spilled..?

When it came to procrastination and excuses, Hannah was The Reigning Queen. At least she had the title.

It had been years since Hannah, once lauded for her creativity and imagination, her beautiful way with words, had written anything other than a grocery list. She was a fish out of water, jittery and uneasy, and, frankly, a little unsure as to why she was inflicting this mental torture upon herself.

“If I have nothing to say, dammit,” she muttered, “I have nothing to say.”

“What was that?” a voice asked from the doorway.

Startled, Hannah turned to find her roommate crossing the den floor toward her. “Uh…What was what?”

“You’re talking to yourself, and you don’t sound happy,” Lauren replied, picking up Hannah’s notebook and peering down at the page. “’She,’” she read. “Well. You’ve got a strong start… Or something.”

“Oh, shut up,” snapped Hannah, making a grab for the notebook. “This is your fault.”

“What’s my fault??”

“You know, Lauren, I’ve said it before, and maybe it’s just true. I’ve lost my touch. I have nothing else to say, and maybe I’ve just written everything that this life intended for me to write. I personally feel that I should just let sleeping dogs lie,” Hannah finished, accenting her final words with the decisive return of her pen to the desktop.

“And I personally feel that you’re a lazy ass,” countered Lauren. “I’m not going to bother reminding you once again that you’re constantly whining – yes, whining, Hannah, don’t argue with me – you’re constantly whining that you’re feeling empty and bored and unchallenged. I won’t even mention the way you are actually always talking about your love of the written word and how you regret ever giving it up.

“I won’t mention those things,” she continued, taking the pen from the desktop and wrapping Hannah’s fingers around it, “because you are my best friend and roommate, and I love you, and I don’t want to make you angry. But you are going to take this pen, and you are going to write something, and in the end, you are going to thank me.”

As Hannah opened her mouth to protest, Lauren added, “Or you’re going to starve, because I’m padlocking the fridge until you’ve got at least a thousand words. Good luck!” she trilled, bouncing back across the floor and out of the room.

Hannah turned slowly back toward the notebook, fixing it with a petulant stare. The glass of water sat beside her, sympathetic but cruelly placid, not a single drop dribbling toward the desktop for Hannah to soak up with the napkin she still had no real reason to fetch.

*