Why I Can’t Write

I’m finding it hard to write at the moment because of my bad back. Because of the pain that shoots up my spine and amplifies itself through to the tips of my shoulder blades like waves of tiny knives, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to sit at my desk for long periods of time and think of words and invent up new worlds.

It’s my fault of course. You see, I hurt my back in my dreams. Why, only last night I was travelling through the Kingdom of Rambunctica with Amber when the terrifying Blunderbeast leapt at us from the Blue Woods with eyes like coals of burning rage. I fought him with my bare hands, miraculously my hands are fine, but I hurt my back when the Blunderbeast threw me to the hard ground.

And then the night before, I strained my back by picking and carrying trees for hours on end against the current of the rushing river. The dam had burst and it was only a matter of time before the village was completely flooded, and being the only giant for miles around, I volunteered myself, bending and gathering up the trees to reinforce the dam just in time.

The pain runs and cascades up and down like a living thing. It is difficult to pin point, it is devious and never wants to be tracked down, for in tracking it down I may soothe it, and it doesn’t want to be soothed. Pain is negative, it thinks it doesn’t deserve to be forgiven and hurt only strengthens its resolve.

The meeting had already been going on too long. The stone chairs were uncomfortable. All member states of the Outer Planetary Divisions of the Eastern Universe had gathered to discuss the rising threat from Planet Chimera’s new president. At the eight hour mark, with nobody getting anywhere, they brought out the dancers and fortune tellers. The fortune-teller said: ‘the havoc has yet to reach boiling point but the point shall soon come and it will wash over us.’

The rocks weren’t stable and I shouldn’t have climbed the mountain, not after twenty hours of futile trade negations had pained my back — it was almost as bad as sitting through two hours of The Phantom Menace. The sky was dark, portentous, the mountain steep, and a storm was closing in from the North. We had forgotten our equipment and should have turned back to base camp but Gary insisted, ‘Danger first!’ he said. The climb was long and arduous. We almost reached the top when I slipped on a piece of loose, red rock and fell. I tumbled and tumbled as one lacerating rock after another smashed into my back. I carried on falling until a large condor grabbed me and lifted me up before dropping me at the peak in a crumpled heap.

You probably think I’m making it up, but that’s why my back hurts so much right now and why I’m struggling to write.


The dreams were made up but the pain is real.

© 2016 Occasional Dreams

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12 Replies to “Why I Can’t Write”

  1. Sorry I read and liked earlier but was going out. So your back is really painful? I thought you were joking 😦 I’ve hurt mines a couple of times and was uncomfortable and took time off work! I sympathise. Still, at least it was worth it with all those exciting dramas 😉 Hope you’re on the mend soon. I never know if you’re meant to apply cold or hot to the area; move around or stay still.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks. That’s ok. It was meant to be humorous, I added the clarification after. Back pain is a fact of life for me. Wife is happy at least, I’m spending more time with her than at my desk. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

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