Musings of a pennyless writer

Ch. 1: Writer's Block

Before he realised it, he had been staring at an empty page for the past hour. He blinked slowly and let out a groan in frustration.

"This isn't gonna happen..." came the grumbling confirmation.
Jay threw down the pen on his desk and closed the notebook. He had been stuck on this assignment for the past week now and not a single word had come to him that he found good enough to write down on paper. Sure, he had some time still, but good stories didn't just pop up out of nowhere. He took the mug from his desk and made a face when he took a sniff. Not only was his coffee untouched, but it was stone cold.
"God dammit..."
He put it back down and another groan escaped his mouth as he got up. Stiffness had crawled into his back; a few cracks of the spine and stretches later and he felt good as new. Jay cast a glance at the large terrarium he kept in his bedroom that contained his pet bearded dragon. Leeroy, he had called him. The pudgy reptile was lounging on his tree stump, eyes closed, enjoying the heat produced from the lamp. He envied the creature. Such a luxurious life...
Crouching before the terrarium, Jay watched Leeroy's breathing for a moment. The reptile opened his eyes and started staring at his human's face.
"My my, aren't we logy today. Did I disturb your me-time, oh scaly one?" Jay asked the dragon jokingly. Leeroy dipped his head and closed his eyes again. Snorting in laughter at the coincidental reaction, Jay stood up again, grabbed the mug from his desk and went to the kitchen to chuck the now vile fluid that once was the ambrosia of the gods.
As he was washing the cup, he heard the front door open and close. Mark, one of his flatmates, walked in looking miffed, more than usual.
"Oh, hi Mark." Jay said in his best Tommy Wiseau impression. The sour face cracked a smile briefly. When they moved in, they discovered they both loved the cult classic dumpster fire that was the movie 'The Room'. Appropriately, he responded: "Oh hey, Jay, what's up?" in his best attempt to copy Greg Sestero. Jay held up the mug sheepishly.
"Another mug gone cold, huh." Mark said, stating the obvious.
"Yeah..." Jay said and paused. He then looked his friend straight in the eye and said the one word they both sorely needed.
"Starbucks?"
Mark let out a big sigh.
"Starbucks."

***

They sat down with a big steaming mug of coffee outside of their favorite Starbucks shop, the one they had been going to for the past two years. Jay took a sip and groaned in delight.
"God, I needed this," he muttered softly. Mark nodded in agreement. "As did I, sweet lord."
He took a sip himself and sighed again.
"So," he started as him and Jay put down their mugs, "you still stuck on your assignment?"
"Please, don't get me started..." Jay moaned. "Actually, DO get me started. I've not been able to get anything on paper for two weeks!"
Mark nodded. "You still have six more weeks before due date. You think you need an extension?"
"As if they'd grant one,"Jay scoffed. "Last time I checked, writers' block wasn't a permitted extenuating circumstance. They'd just call it 'procrastination'," he added, accenting the last word with air quotes.
Mark chuckled."I think you're using air quotes wrong there, bub. It's not 'kind of' procrastination, it -is- procrastination. You better make it work, I'm already halfway."
"I know, I know..." Jay rubbed his temples and sighed. "Just nothing is coming."
"Dude," Mark said after taking a sip of his mug, "you're in god damn New York City. There's a story on every street corner."
Jay lifted his mug and looked his roommate in the eye. "So what was your sour face about?" he asked, switching subject.

Mark's face fell a little. "Oh. That."
Jay nodded. "That."
"It's nothing."
"Dude, I shared, now you share. Sanctity of our 'Bucks, do not defile it."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "That's not a thing."
"Is so."
"Nu-uh!"
Jay made a face as if his friend had wounded him. As he opened his mouth, Mark caught the smirk and quickly interjected: "Don't you dare, Jay, I swear to-"
"You're tearing me apart, Mark! Why you gotta betray me?!" Jay said, once again in his Wiseau accent.
Mark burst out laughing. "God damn it, Jay, keep your stupid comments in your pocket!"
They both laughed for a while. When it died down, they took another sip and Mark put his mug down. "Cecilia broke up with me."
Jay's face fell. "Oh.... that's... Shit dude, I'm sorry," he said, albeit a bit forced.
Mark smirked. "I know you didn't like her dude, no need to be gentle." Jay let out a breath of relief. "I'm glad she did man. The hell was up with her attitude?"
Cecilia was an art major who took her life as a bonefide artiste very serious. She and Mark had been together for a year and Jay could not figure out how he could have stayed with her. She was demanding, bossy, snobby and wrote her name as 'Caecilia', because it made it more bourgeois. When Jay had asked about the reason he had stayed with her, Mark had shrugged and said that it was "something in the bedroom that made her very adhesive". When asking for clarification on that, Mark just shrugged and went back to the game he was playing at the time. Jay never got the answer and that just tore him up inside.
"So, what now?" Jay asked his friend carefully. Mark sighed. "Now? I guess I move on."
Jay continued. "Did she at least give you a reason on why she broke up with you?"
The response that was given was something akin to a shrug combined with a hand gestures of someone that was asked an impossible question. Frankly, Jay couldn't blame his friend. Cecilia been one to do what she wanted and never explain why.
"She said I was taking away the focus from her grisailles." Mark said. Jay made a face. "What the absolute holy inferno is a grisaille?"
Mark took another sip of his mug. "Frankly, I'm not too sure myself. When she told me, I had to google the damn word to understand her definition because half of what she said was in French. Like, can you -be- more confusing?"
A pause snuck in the conversation and Jay laughed uncomfortably. "Well?"

Mark looked surprised for a moment. "Well what?"

"What's a grisaille?"
"Oh." Mark laughed sheepishly for a moment. "According to the net, a grisaille is 'a method of painting in grey monochrome, typically to imitate sculpture'."
"So... she's painting statues?" Jay said carefully.
"I mean, I guess? Christ man, I've not seen any of her work. She can be painting marble poop for all I know." Mark exclaimed. "Frankly, I stopped caring about it the moment she said that we were done."
They both took a sip now and let out a long sigh. Jay looked out in the street of New York City and enjoyed the noise for a bit. He had moved here from Lancaster two years ago and had not regretted it since. He was the first of his family to go to university and the fact that he could do it in NYC was a blessing. The only downside was that he was working terrible shifts at a hotel as receptionist to afford living in his house. The occasional money buffer he got from his parents was a welcome treat. It made him able to afford Starbucks. And if he were honest with himself, what would he be without it?
Jay looked at his friend. "So are you ever going to tell me what you meant with 'adhesive'?" Mark never looked up from his mug of coffee when he replied: "Nope."

***

After leaving the coffee shop half an hour later, they parted ways as Mark had some things to still take care of. "I don't know how much of my stuff is left at Ceci's," he said.  "Good thing she forgot I have a key."
Once alone, Jay started walking back to the apartment but kept thinking. Did he really want to go back and just stare at his screen for another few hours? What was it that was holding him back? It shouldn't be that hard, he made stories when he was a kid and a teen non-stop. So why was it so hard now? Jay let out a groan in frustration. This was insane. Mark was right, New York had so much to offer in terms of story, inspiration and catalysts. He stopped and looked around, observing the people walking past. A pretty blonde woman in a red dress was the first thing he noticed. And that instantly made him think of The Matrix. Crap. Not original. He looked into the opposite direction and saw a man in a suit holding several courier bags. Most likely those held many important work documents that he is taking either home or to his job to slave away at. Next to him was were a man and woman in suits talking in very hushed and very frantic voices, their walking pace matching their tone. Possibly a few lawyers talking a deal? He looked past the people and observed the buildings. Old, new, the history of New York City was rich and vibrant. Restaurants, clothing stores, indie shops. Anything that you could think of, the world was endless. The woman in the red dress passed him and her scent distracted him for a moment. A hint of lavender and spiced apple. Her appearance was warm anomaly in the streak of cold colours, suits and city smell. It was almost magical. Jay cocked his head to the side and thought about that. He hadn't considered the possibility of urban fantasy yet, because he didn't want to write a fantasy story. But something along the likes of Shadowrun, Constantine; magic in a modern setting. That was a possibility. He let his eyes wander across the street and saw a group of people wearing caps and baggy clothes walking like peacocks, as if they owned the place. Not just the street, but the whole damn city. An idea occurred. But what if they did?
Jay's eyes widened. "Holy crap baskets..." he said quietly to himself.