writer’s block 8:06 am Thanksgiving’s been made into soup. Winter’s come out of nowhere. Snow blower’s been dusted off. Shovel has been put into action. We are in it. No getting around it. So, instead of pissing and moaning, it’s time to make the best of it. Pull kids in the sled. Round the block. Round the back yard. Until a few more snows. When I’ll push the Tecumseh-driven snow beast back-and-forth to get as much of the yard’s snow into one big sloping pile. So Oogie and Little Man will have their very own sledding hill. Half tank of gas. An hour of work. A few trial runs to pack things down and make sure everything is in proper working order for the kiddos. And the dynamic duo will be happy and smiling. And Daddy will be the hero. The man. Their BFF. The provider of all that is good. Until, of course, Oogie refuses to move out of Little Man’s way. He flattens her like a Zamboni over a marshmallow. Or she throws snow into his face. Or he pushes her over. Or…It could be any number of things and then, at once, I’m not a very nice guy. Breaking up the fight. Hammering home rules. Telling them things they don’t want to hear because they just want to do things their way and have fun. And so it goes. Over and over again. Kids and playing and fighting and parents trying to help them understand the things we must be able to do to function at least half-assed in this society. But we didn’t wake and make way to the basement with our coffee for this. We came down here because this—unfortunately—is a case of writer’s block. And it is what we need to do to get moving onto other things. Like picking a title for the new book. The one I’ve been working on for longer than I can admit. A collection of work that is not only mine but that also belongs to four other writers that were gracious enough to let me use their writing for this project. This will be the first publication that is a direct result of our new efforts at Horsefeathers Studio. We will sell the books at the shop, but they will also be available at other stores and online. But all of that is to come. For now, it’s that elusive title. And the novel I’m working on. And the work we have to do at the shop to get the doors open to the public. The wood I’ve got to split. The trim in the hallway. The wall in the kitchen. And the fact that it’s Sunday and all I really want to do is stay inside. Drink warm drinks. Eat sweets. Play board games with the kids. And write. But all of that is hard to do when I know that there are plenty of people out there that haven’t got a pot to piss in. Didn’t even have Thanksgiving. And that playing in the snow with kids doesn’t sound like all that much fun when you’re living in it every day. Shit indeed does happen. People end up in bad places through bad choices, bad upbringings, and bad luck. But all I ever think when I see someone that needs help is that person is somebody’s kid. I don’t care who is at fault. That could be my Little Man. My Oogie. And their place in life could ultimately be the result of something I cannot see. So, you push past the fear. Don’t get too drawn up into the hurt. You pick them up. Dust them off. And help them. In whatever way you can. At least for a little bit. To get inside. For warm drinks. Sweets. So they can get fueled back up and tackle that big snowy hill again. Until fight or fate or bad choices send them over the top or back down again. It doesn’t matter really as long as they are given a chance. But that’s just me. Getting too deep. Too early. On a Sunday morning. Smack dab in the middle of a life that I’m thankful for, aware of, but that I sometimes do not believe I deserve. Especially when I can sit here in the basement. Sip coffee. Eat the best damned breakfast sandwich I’ve ever had (Thanks, S.B.). Hear my kids thumping around upstairs, playing. While I wrestle with a case of writer’s block. Best, ~ K.J.