I write very often, obviously, for my job at the Nisqually Valley News. No probelm. Writing an average of 10 stories per week with a variety of topics - sports, politics, human interest, crime, etc.

Then I get home ... I know I have an idea for a novel. To write a fictionalized tale of my first job as a one-man sports department for a weekly newspaper. Having traveled 2,000 miles to move out from his mom's house to his professional career.

I know how the story goes, what will happen, who he will meet.

But then I get to the keyboard. I stare at the blank screen. While thoughts are in my head of what should go on the page ... I write nothing.

Somehow, the connection from my brain to my fingers, telling them to type the words for my second novel in the works, is hitting some sort of roadblock.

What is it? Am I not in the right setting? I moved from room to room. I find the couch in the living room, where I wrote the first one.

Nope, still staring at a blank screen. No words, but plenty of ideas.

I turn on music. Something fast paced to get my typing going at a similar rate. Five Finger Death Punch, Atreyu, August Burns Red, Thousand Foot Krutch ... all the usual bands I enjoy.

But then I get distracted and sing along like a bad karaoke night. I apologize to my neighbors above and below me. And to my 6 year old stepson, Jenn's little guy, for waking him up from his sleep.

Then I began to lie down and start checking e-mails, researching for notes, and other little tasks. I tell Simon he's supposed to go back to bed as he wanders out of his room and into the hall. His response is "I'm still awake" as he meanders back to his bed, at least that's my assumption from the couch.

And then I realize what is going on ... I'm in writer's block. The worst thing ever for an aspiring author.

(Insert any curse words you would assume one would say in a situation like this.)

So now I write a blog to get into the writing groove. Because once I'm able to start writing, I can get into a rhythm and can keep going and going like that drummer bunny in the commericals. Only I had a pot of coffee so I should be flying right now.

But I keep running into this writer's block, like the coyote who thought he could run through the same fake tunnel that the road runner did. Only I haven't learned that my current idea of getting through isn't working.