A Writer’s Journey – Heroes, Spies, and Writer’s Block

The final quote; a closing line

Last chance to make it shine

Bold beginning; full of zest

A secret agent lost in Budapest

Lots of action; an amazing chase

A hero’s hand always holds an ace

Brushed by death; just another day

But in the end, he gets away

Much too simple; away through the mist

Add some backstory and a quick plot twist

Almost home; until that fatal turn

The big explosion filled with crash and burn

Things look grim; but just for spice

What comes next is a roll of the dice

Scene is shifting; an underground hotel

Bandaged and bloodied in a tiny cell

Captured while unconscious; barely breathing

Hit or miss whether his heart keeps beating

Imprisoned; his captors want to interrogate

If he spills his guts, he just might skate

A second twist; our hero playing coy

He’s strong enough for a whipping boy

The perfect moment; after taking a beating

Henchmen all went away for a meeting

His moves like lightning; swiftly kicking

Acting fast while the clock keeps ticking

Subdued the guard; now he’s on the run

Grabs the keys and grabs a gun

A quick escape; he’s on the street

Needs a car, then he spots a fleet

Under the dash; a quick twist of the wires

The engine argues, but then it fires

Through the gears; the traffic is thin

Discovered he’s in West Berlin

No passport or documents; no papers or money

He laughs out loud, but it’s not funny

Find a safe house; one that has supplies

Very quietly, with no compromise

Off the grid; going full-on to the dark

Must stay safe from the evil oligarch

Act one and two; the plot still thick

But he’s being tailed by a Bolshevik

Double back; now he’s the chaser

Ends a life with a silenced tracer

Words come rapidly; the story growing

Enemies everywhere and none are slowing

The life of a spy; how short it can be

Death is calling like a screaming banshee

But as heroes go; this one has it right

Keeps on moving to avoid the fight

But what is missing; why is he pursued?

Maybe a woman or a long-standing feud

Government secrets; stolen jewels

Exposing smugglers and their mules

Narcotics ring; weapons dealers

Whispered reasons from the squealers

Thoughts are failing; another writer’s block

Frozen fingers while I stare at the clock

Like the other day; and the days before

Even since the days of dinosaurs

A hundred pages; sometime less

I just get stuck and can’t progress

The act three curse; my Achilles’ heel

Days of misery are my life’s ordeal

Surrender; again I cast my work aside

Seek out my bed and crawl inside

Fitful dreams; another sleepless night

It’s so infuriating when I cannot write

Writer’s block; a mind of its own

The root cause of all that I bemoan

I’ve prayed for help; went on my knees

But no luck or magic came to unfreeze

My brain stays stuck; it’s just like a torture

The price I pay for trying to be an author

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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