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Writer's Block

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Our story begins with a young lad named Scott from Ann Arbor, Michigan. He’s an aspiring guitar player and at the ripe age of sixteen. Lately, he hasn’t been able to write music like he used to. He used to be able to write something every time he sat down to practice, but he hasn’t written anything good in over two months. One night, as he’s about to fall asleep, he’s visited by the ghost of Stevie Ray Vaughn, one of his favorite musicians.

Stevie: Hey kid, wake up!
Scott: *rubs his eyes* W-what? Who are you?
Stevie: Don’t you recognize me?

Scott pauses for a second and realizes that Stevie Ray Vaughn is standing before him.

Scott: No way. You died, a long time ago. There’s no way you’re actually here. I’m dreaming. I have to be.
Stevie: You aren’t dreaming man, I’ll prove it to you.
Scott: Try me.

Stevie walks over to Scott and pinches his arm.

Scott: OW!
Stevie: Hey, you asked me to prove it to you.
Scott: Okay, okay. Whatever! How the h*ll are you alive though? You died in a plane crash, a long time ago.
Stevie: Yeah, I prefer not to remember that. I was sent here, Scott.
Scott: By who?
Stevie: That doesn’t matter. What matters is your writer’s block.
Scott: Why do you care about a sixteen year old from Ann Arbor’s writer’s block?
Stevie: Because they told me you were special, man. According to them you’re extremely talented for your age, and at the rate you’re going, you’ll be as good as Vai or Satriani by the time you’re 19.

Scott looks shocked by this remark.

Scott: Are you serious?
Stevie: I came back from the dead just to come to your sh*tty house in Michigan and help you get over your writer’s block. What do you think?
Scott: My house isn’t that sh*tty.
Stevie: Maybe, for Michigan.
Scott: Shut up.
Stevie: Whatever. The problem is, your writer’s block. With a guitar player as talented as you, you’re bound to get it. It happens to the best of us. I’m going to show you how to get out of it. I’ve been in your position before and I know exactly what to do. I can help you.
Scott: Okay, but what’s in it for you?
Stevie: I get to see you play. Good enough for me.

Scott’s face begins to turn red at the thought of Stevie Ray Vaughn admiring his playing.

Scott: Are you sure you aren’t getting paid for this or something?
Stevie: I’m dead. What the h*ll would I do with money?
Scott: Good point.
Stevie: You know, for such a good guitar player you sure ask some stupid questions.
Scott: It’s not very often I get visited by the ghost of one of my musical idols.
Stevie: Right. I forget how popular I am sometimes.
Stevie: ANYWAY, let me show you what I do to get out of writer’s block.
Scott: Is it heroin? I hope it’s heroin.
Stevie: No, stupid. All hard drugs do for you is make you write stupid lyrics about things that have nothing to do with each other. There aren’t any drugs involved.
Scott: Aw man!

They hear footsteps in the hallway, walking towards Scott’s room.

Scott: S***, someone’s coming! You need to hide in the closet or something. How am I gonna explain this to my mom?
Stevie: I’m dead, they can’t hear me or see me.
Scott: How come I can then?
Stevie: We only reveal ourselves to people who want to hear us. Didn’t you know that?
Scott: Ghosts aren’t a very popular subject of education in public high schools.
Stevie: One more reason to dislike public schools.
Scott: But seriously, what am I going to tell my mom?
Stevie: I’ll tell you what to say, just be calm and don’t be stupid.

Scott’s mom opens the door and walks into his room.

Mom: Scott? What’s all this babbling coming from your room about? Who the h*ll are you talking to at this late at night?
Stevie (whispering): I was just talking to Jenny on the phone.
Scott: I was just talking to Jenny on the phone.
Mom: Jenny? Your cousin Jenny?
Stevie (whispering): Yeah, we’re pretty close.
Scott: Yeah, we’re pretty close.
Mom: Whatever. Stop talking to your cousin on the phone at midnight. Some of us have to sleep you know!

Scott’s mom exits the room.

Stevie: Well that was a close one.
Scott: Except for the fact that my mom probably thinks I’m interested in my 11 year old cousin.
Stevie: Hey man, YOLO.
Scott: You did not just say YOLO.
Stevie: Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I can’t stay up to date with all the latest slang.
Scott: Yes, yes it does.
Stevie: Whatever man, YOLO.
Scott: You’re dead. It doesn’t even apply to you. You already lived once.
Stevie: I guess I never thought of it like that.
Scott: Can we get back to getting out of writer’s block now?
Stevie: Right, right, of course. Well, the first thing I do is take a nap.
Scott: I was sleeping when you got here. Does that count?
Stevie: I guess. Let’s just go to step 2. Usually, I’ll go fix myself a scotch.
Scott: I’m 16.
Stevie: Hm, right. Maybe we’ll have to try something a little.... unorthodox.
Scott: Like what?
Stevie: You’ll see. Just close your eyes.

Scott closes his eyes and wakes up in a room with hundreds of guitars covering the walls, and hundreds of different amplifiers sitting on the floor.

Stevie: Welcome to my house.
Scott: Is this what heaven is like? Because I’m totally down for going right now if that’s the case.
Stevie: Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Pick a guitar out, then we’ll get started.

Scott picks up a guitar from the wall and sits down.

Stevie: Alright, now just plug in and let’s get go-

Stevie’s wife enters the room and cuts him off mid sentence.

Mrs. Vaughn: STEVIE RAY VAUGHN, WHO HAVE YOU BROUGHT IN MY HOUSE NOW?
Stevie: It’s just a friend that the guy from upstairs told me to mentor, calm your *ss down.
Mrs. Vaughn: HOW DO I KNOW YOU AREN’T CHEATING ON ME WITH HIM?
Stevie: Because he’s... sixteen and a dude?
Mrs. Vaughn: ARE YOU SURE? HE SURE DOESNT LOOK SIXTEEN, OR MALE.
Scott: Thanks.
Stevie: Get back to your Grey’s Anatomy and leave us the h*ll alone, I’m trying to get some work done!
Mrs. Vaughn: Fine, but if I hear ANYTHING out of the ordinary, you’re ou-
Stevie: Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay. Bye.

Mrs. Vaughn exits the room.

Scott: What the h*ll’s the matter with her?
Stevie: She’s a woman and she’s 57. You do the math.
Scott: Something tells me you’re out of the house a lot.
Stevie: That’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said all night.
Scott: I’m not THAT dumb. Can we try to work on this writer’s block now?
Stevie: Of course, man. Well, the next thing you’re gonna have to do is get a girlfriend.
Scott: Why do I need a girlfriend to write music?
Stevie: Because when she breaks your heart, all of your emotions will pour out of you and you’ll write some of the best music you’ve ever written. It sounds stupid, but trust me, it works.
Scott: I don’t want to put myself through all of that just to write music!
Stevie: I’m running out of ideas, man.
Scott: Isn’t there anything I can do that doesn’t involve liquor or getting my heart broken?
Stevie: Okay, there’s one other thing that might work.
Scott: Do tell.
Stevie: Okay, think of something that makes you really mad. I mean P*SSED. So p*ssed that it makes you literally want to punch a hole in your wall.
Scott: Okay, got it.
Stevie: What did you choose?
Scott: Having writer’s block.

Stevie sighs

Stevie: You need to think of something that’s an issue in the world. Like, african children starving, or genocide, or something.
Scott: Why won’t having writer’s block work?
Stevie: How the h*ll are you going to write about how mad you are that you can’t write anything?
Scott: Good point.
Stevie: Your smart comments only seem to come once in a great while.
Scott: Hey, I didn’t come to your d*mn house to be made fun of.
Stevie: Maybe you shouldn’t have been born so stupid then, man.
Scott: k.
Stevie: If you “k” me again I’ll make you spend the rest of the night with my wife.
Scott: Oh my god. I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll do anything you want.
Stevie: That’s what I thought. Now, what’s something that makes you really mad?
Scott: The cafeteria food at our school.
Stevie: That’s stupid enough to work. Now I want you to focus all of your anger, and just play your guitar, and see what happens.

Scott starts playing the guitar and plays some of the heaviest riffs he’s ever played.

Scott: Oh my god! This is amazing. Why didn’t you just show me this first?
Stevie: Because I like women and booz a lot better than being angry. I’m a rockstar, remember?
Scott: A dead rockstar.
Stevie: Do you always have to bring the fact that I’m dead into this?
Scott: Yeah, because your reactions are always priceless.
Stevie: Whatever, man. So I’ve helped you. You can go back home now.
Scott: Are you sure you want me to leave you alone with your wife?
Stevie: Hey man, I’ve had to deal with her for the past 30 years. What’s another night gonna hurt?
Scott: True that. Well Stevie, it was nice meeting you. Hopefully you won’t have to come see me again.
Stevie: Get the h*ll out of my house and go write some riffs, yo.

The next morning, Scott wrote an entire full length album
only about his hatred of cafeteria food. His new album, “I hate cafeteria food” can be purchased on iTunes, Amazon, Bandcamp, Zune Store, as well as in local Hot Topic stores and streamed on Spotify.





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