Unblock

She picked up a pen instead—blue ink, cheap Bic—and turned to a fresh page in her notebook. No cursor. No delete key. No spellcheck whispering doubt.

The pen moved again. And again. The words came crooked and messy, crossing lines out, arrows pointing to margins. But they came. unblock

There was a difference. A blocked writer had no words. She had too many—a tangle of them, knotted behind her ribs, each one afraid to be the wrong one. So none of them came out. She picked up a pen instead—blue ink, cheap