Out of Ideas
Sep. 3rd, 2011 06:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolDanny stuck his head into the study where Sheila was working. She looked up from her spreadsheet and smiled at her husband. He didn't smile back. Danny looked worried.
"I can't think of anything to write," he complained.
Sheila pushed back from the computer. "Oh," she said sympathetically. "That's bad." Danny had a daily column in the newspaper – human interest stuff, fluff pieces, that sort of thing. He wrote it every day, starting around nine thirty in the morning, and he was usually done by around two. Then he had the rest of the day for errands or golf or whatever. It was, Sheila had always privately felt, a pretty cush job.
Sheila checked her watch. It was now four in the afternoon. Danny hadn't even started yet? Danny came all the way into the study and slumped in the armchair. He looked anxious; jumpy.
Sheila knew better than to start suggesting story ideas. That wasn't how Danny worked. His column had to be his, all the way, from the first germ of a notion to the final completed product.
"So," asked Sheila hesitantly, "is it just that your idea isn't working out so good, or…"
"No." Danny was firm, almost hostile. "I don't have an idea. I am completely out of ideas."
He blinked at Sheila. He didn't have the words to express what his body language said plainly: HELP ME.
"Oh, honey," said Sheila, coming to sit on the chair's arm and reaching around her husband's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I think I've never seen this happen to you."
"I know," Danny said, his voice breaking. "I've always been able to, you know, keep it flowing, like turning on a faucet and the water just flows out. But today, nothing."
"Oh, honey," repeated Sheila tenderly. She squeezed Danny. "I wonder what happened."
"Maybe I'm getting old," said Danny huskily. "Old and burned out. A daily columnist who can't write."
"No, no, no, no, NO." Sheila stood up briskly and snapped her fingers under Danny's nose. "I can't listen to you talk like this. You're not burnt out, you're just a little off today."
"I can't think why," complained Danny. "I did everything today the same way I always do it. All that's different is that I don't have anything to write about."
"Well all right then," said Sheila brightly. "You can just walk me through your routine. Maybe I can help you pinpoint what's going on." She extended her hands to help Danny stand up. Reluctantly he took them.
Sheila led Danny back to the bedroom. "Lie down," she ordered. "Pretend you haven't gotten up yet."
"Do I need to get my sleep shirt back on?" asked Danny, kicking off his shoes.
"No, but get under the covers," said Sheila. She closed the blinds and turned off the overhead light.
"Okay, you're sleeping," said Sheila, fumbling her way across the darkened room to the bedside table. "Suddenly the clock radio goes off." She turned on the radio and clicked on the bedside light. Danny had the covers pulled over his head and he didn't move.
"Maybe I'll just stay here and sleep," his muffled voice said. "One missed deadline won't kill anybody."
"Nonsense," said Sheila, whipping the covers back. Danny sighed and got up.
"All right, what's next?" asked Sheila.
"This morning? This morning, after I got up, I took a shit."
"We shall skip that step," said Sheila decisively. "But did everything go… as normal?"
"All functions were nominal," Danny responded testily.
"Then we'll assume that's not part of the problem, and move on," said Sheila smoothly. "Next?"
"Next, tooth brushing, shower, shave."
Sheila nodded. "All right, get to it."
"Aw, c'mon," griped Danny. "Really?"
"Really." Sheila pointed to the sink. Danny grudgingly brushed his teeth, then fired up the shower. Sheila waited in the bathroom, doodling in the mirror's condensation while Danny lathered up.
"Feeling any ideas flowing?" Sheila asked through the fog.
"No," Danny replied. "But that's not a surprise. At this point in the morning I'm still half asleep anyway."
"Right," nodded Sheila, handing Danny a towel as the shower door opened.
Danny dried off and got on some clean clothes. "Okay, now it's breakfast time," he said, leading the way into the kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine, filled it with water and instant coffee, and closed it up to brew while he got out cereal and paraphernalia.
Sheila picked up the wrapper from the instant coffee singles and frowned. "This is different," she said.
Danny looked over as he was reaching down a selection of cereal boxes from the pantry. "No, that's the brand we always get," he said. "I bought some more on Sunday."
"Yeah, but the packaging looks different somehow," she said. She peered at the labels, then held the torn pieces of the wrapper together so she could read the small writing. "Uh oh," said Sheila, raising her eyebrows. "You better come and look at this." Danny read over her shoulder:
MORNIN' SUNSHINE
Jamaican Mountain Blend
Finely Ground, Ready to Use
100% Inspiration Free
IMPORTANT: REMOVE FROM PACKAGE BEFORE USE
"What the hell is 'Inspiration Free'?" Danny demanded.
"I dunno," said Sheila, baffled. "But this might just be the problem. Get your shoes back on; we're going to the store."
In fifteen minutes they were at the Food Fiesta and patrolling the coffee aisle. "Here's what I got," said Danny, pulling a box off the shelf. It, too, said '100% Inspiration Free', but the lettering was small. It wasn't the sort of thing that jumped out at you.
"Here, look at this box," said Sheila, pulling one from the bottom shelf. Its sub-lettering said 'Classically Inspirational'. The two boxes were the same color, the same shape, everything.
Danny flagged down an assistant manager. "Hey," he said, irritated. "What's the deal with these coffee boxes?"
"Oh, yeah," said the manager, scratching behind his apron. "We get a lot of complaints about that. They just changed the packaging; it's really hard to tell the difference between the two. We've griped at the company, and I think they're gonna fix the boxes in time for the next order."
"You should put up a sign or something," Danny grumped.
"What's the deal with Inspiration Free coffee anyway?" asked Sheila. "Who wants your coffee to be free of inspiration?"
"Shoot, lady, we used to get all kinds of requests," said the young manager. Sheila found herself miffed to have been labeled a 'lady'.
"Wait wait wait," interrupted Danny. "So you're saying normal coffee inspires you, gets your juices flowing, kicks your brain in gear? And some people didn't want that??" He was incredulous.
"Sure," said the assistant manager. "I'm one of 'em." He looked around furtively, then spoke quietly.
"Look," he said, "this is kind of a dead-end job, okay? I mean, there's not a lot to look forward to here. Maybe in twenty years, if I'm lucky, I could become a store manager, and then as a reward I get to spend my nights and weekends up here making sure things don't go wrong, right? I mean, the manager right now has an ulcer, he worries so bad, and he's not even rich or anything."
The young guy shrugged. "But still, this is the only job I got, and it pays the bills. I get by pretty good, you know? I really can't complain, especially since lots of people want a job and can't get one. So I come in every day and I work. It's not hard work, but there's a lot to do and I need to do it. The problem is, if I stop and think about what's going on, or if I get distracted thinking about something else, it bums me out. It keeps me from being able to work the way I need to. So I drink the non-inspirational coffee. My brain stays un-engaged all day. It's great; I don’t get depressed like I used to, and my brain doesn't burn up all my energy thinking about random stuff that doesn't help me do my job. But it still has that caffeine kick that gets me going in the morning."
"Oh," said Sheila, stunned.
"Yeah," added Danny, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Uh, thanks."
"Sure," said the assistant manager. "Let me know if you got any other questions." He went back to work labeling cans. There were about a thousand of them left to do.
They bought a box of the Classically Inspirational coffee. On the way back home, Sheila looked at her watch again.
"Look, you'll need to get moving if you're going to make the evening deadline," she said. "We'll drive through a Barrista Bee and get you juiced back up right now."
They pulled into the drive aisle and rolled up to the speaker. "Hey," called Danny, "I'll get a venti, Aruba Classico, cream and double sugar." As an afterthought, he added: "And make sure it's the Inspirational kind."
"Yes, sir," crackled the voice of the attendant. "Do you want a double shot of inspiration?"
Danny's eyebrows rose. "Hell yeah," he said.
"I can't think of anything to write," he complained.
Sheila pushed back from the computer. "Oh," she said sympathetically. "That's bad." Danny had a daily column in the newspaper – human interest stuff, fluff pieces, that sort of thing. He wrote it every day, starting around nine thirty in the morning, and he was usually done by around two. Then he had the rest of the day for errands or golf or whatever. It was, Sheila had always privately felt, a pretty cush job.
Sheila checked her watch. It was now four in the afternoon. Danny hadn't even started yet? Danny came all the way into the study and slumped in the armchair. He looked anxious; jumpy.
Sheila knew better than to start suggesting story ideas. That wasn't how Danny worked. His column had to be his, all the way, from the first germ of a notion to the final completed product.
"So," asked Sheila hesitantly, "is it just that your idea isn't working out so good, or…"
"No." Danny was firm, almost hostile. "I don't have an idea. I am completely out of ideas."
He blinked at Sheila. He didn't have the words to express what his body language said plainly: HELP ME.
"Oh, honey," said Sheila, coming to sit on the chair's arm and reaching around her husband's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I think I've never seen this happen to you."
"I know," Danny said, his voice breaking. "I've always been able to, you know, keep it flowing, like turning on a faucet and the water just flows out. But today, nothing."
"Oh, honey," repeated Sheila tenderly. She squeezed Danny. "I wonder what happened."
"Maybe I'm getting old," said Danny huskily. "Old and burned out. A daily columnist who can't write."
"No, no, no, no, NO." Sheila stood up briskly and snapped her fingers under Danny's nose. "I can't listen to you talk like this. You're not burnt out, you're just a little off today."
"I can't think why," complained Danny. "I did everything today the same way I always do it. All that's different is that I don't have anything to write about."
"Well all right then," said Sheila brightly. "You can just walk me through your routine. Maybe I can help you pinpoint what's going on." She extended her hands to help Danny stand up. Reluctantly he took them.
Sheila led Danny back to the bedroom. "Lie down," she ordered. "Pretend you haven't gotten up yet."
"Do I need to get my sleep shirt back on?" asked Danny, kicking off his shoes.
"No, but get under the covers," said Sheila. She closed the blinds and turned off the overhead light.
"Okay, you're sleeping," said Sheila, fumbling her way across the darkened room to the bedside table. "Suddenly the clock radio goes off." She turned on the radio and clicked on the bedside light. Danny had the covers pulled over his head and he didn't move.
"Maybe I'll just stay here and sleep," his muffled voice said. "One missed deadline won't kill anybody."
"Nonsense," said Sheila, whipping the covers back. Danny sighed and got up.
"All right, what's next?" asked Sheila.
"This morning? This morning, after I got up, I took a shit."
"We shall skip that step," said Sheila decisively. "But did everything go… as normal?"
"All functions were nominal," Danny responded testily.
"Then we'll assume that's not part of the problem, and move on," said Sheila smoothly. "Next?"
"Next, tooth brushing, shower, shave."
Sheila nodded. "All right, get to it."
"Aw, c'mon," griped Danny. "Really?"
"Really." Sheila pointed to the sink. Danny grudgingly brushed his teeth, then fired up the shower. Sheila waited in the bathroom, doodling in the mirror's condensation while Danny lathered up.
"Feeling any ideas flowing?" Sheila asked through the fog.
"No," Danny replied. "But that's not a surprise. At this point in the morning I'm still half asleep anyway."
"Right," nodded Sheila, handing Danny a towel as the shower door opened.
Danny dried off and got on some clean clothes. "Okay, now it's breakfast time," he said, leading the way into the kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine, filled it with water and instant coffee, and closed it up to brew while he got out cereal and paraphernalia.
Sheila picked up the wrapper from the instant coffee singles and frowned. "This is different," she said.
Danny looked over as he was reaching down a selection of cereal boxes from the pantry. "No, that's the brand we always get," he said. "I bought some more on Sunday."
"Yeah, but the packaging looks different somehow," she said. She peered at the labels, then held the torn pieces of the wrapper together so she could read the small writing. "Uh oh," said Sheila, raising her eyebrows. "You better come and look at this." Danny read over her shoulder:
MORNIN' SUNSHINE
Jamaican Mountain Blend
Finely Ground, Ready to Use
100% Inspiration Free
IMPORTANT: REMOVE FROM PACKAGE BEFORE USE
"What the hell is 'Inspiration Free'?" Danny demanded.
"I dunno," said Sheila, baffled. "But this might just be the problem. Get your shoes back on; we're going to the store."
In fifteen minutes they were at the Food Fiesta and patrolling the coffee aisle. "Here's what I got," said Danny, pulling a box off the shelf. It, too, said '100% Inspiration Free', but the lettering was small. It wasn't the sort of thing that jumped out at you.
"Here, look at this box," said Sheila, pulling one from the bottom shelf. Its sub-lettering said 'Classically Inspirational'. The two boxes were the same color, the same shape, everything.
Danny flagged down an assistant manager. "Hey," he said, irritated. "What's the deal with these coffee boxes?"
"Oh, yeah," said the manager, scratching behind his apron. "We get a lot of complaints about that. They just changed the packaging; it's really hard to tell the difference between the two. We've griped at the company, and I think they're gonna fix the boxes in time for the next order."
"You should put up a sign or something," Danny grumped.
"What's the deal with Inspiration Free coffee anyway?" asked Sheila. "Who wants your coffee to be free of inspiration?"
"Shoot, lady, we used to get all kinds of requests," said the young manager. Sheila found herself miffed to have been labeled a 'lady'.
"Wait wait wait," interrupted Danny. "So you're saying normal coffee inspires you, gets your juices flowing, kicks your brain in gear? And some people didn't want that??" He was incredulous.
"Sure," said the assistant manager. "I'm one of 'em." He looked around furtively, then spoke quietly.
"Look," he said, "this is kind of a dead-end job, okay? I mean, there's not a lot to look forward to here. Maybe in twenty years, if I'm lucky, I could become a store manager, and then as a reward I get to spend my nights and weekends up here making sure things don't go wrong, right? I mean, the manager right now has an ulcer, he worries so bad, and he's not even rich or anything."
The young guy shrugged. "But still, this is the only job I got, and it pays the bills. I get by pretty good, you know? I really can't complain, especially since lots of people want a job and can't get one. So I come in every day and I work. It's not hard work, but there's a lot to do and I need to do it. The problem is, if I stop and think about what's going on, or if I get distracted thinking about something else, it bums me out. It keeps me from being able to work the way I need to. So I drink the non-inspirational coffee. My brain stays un-engaged all day. It's great; I don’t get depressed like I used to, and my brain doesn't burn up all my energy thinking about random stuff that doesn't help me do my job. But it still has that caffeine kick that gets me going in the morning."
"Oh," said Sheila, stunned.
"Yeah," added Danny, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Uh, thanks."
"Sure," said the assistant manager. "Let me know if you got any other questions." He went back to work labeling cans. There were about a thousand of them left to do.
They bought a box of the Classically Inspirational coffee. On the way back home, Sheila looked at her watch again.
"Look, you'll need to get moving if you're going to make the evening deadline," she said. "We'll drive through a Barrista Bee and get you juiced back up right now."
They pulled into the drive aisle and rolled up to the speaker. "Hey," called Danny, "I'll get a venti, Aruba Classico, cream and double sugar." As an afterthought, he added: "And make sure it's the Inspirational kind."
"Yes, sir," crackled the voice of the attendant. "Do you want a double shot of inspiration?"
Danny's eyebrows rose. "Hell yeah," he said.
