Short Story: Singing The Blues Ain't Easy

Short Story: Singing The Blues Ain't Easy

Nick did not write today.
Nick did not write yesterday.
Nick did not write the day before yesterday.
Nick is depressed.

Not only is Nick singing the Blues, he has already picked out a name for his backup singers: The Demons. Every writer is familiar with that group of head bangers – his face breaks into a grin ... the first of the day.

But singing the Blues is not easy when you are sitting on a sunny beach in Mexico ... in January.

Nick is trying, but there are so many things going against him:

* It does not help that his mornings start with a cup of coffee in the shade of a thatched roof near the water’s edge – buoyant fishing boats pushing out to sea – buoyant surfers pushing in from the sea – each filling the air with optimism.

* It does not help that the roving troubadour with the strumming guitar and the velvet voice brings so much gaiety to the table next to his, that some of it spills over onto him.

* It does not help that the beach peddler with the little fortune-telling bird comes to his table. Nick listens to the tale of this ancient tradition, gives the peddler a few pesos, and when Nick takes the delicate piece of paper from the beak of the little bird, he reads words that promise love and joy – no, that does not help, either.

* It does not help that words like warm ocean breezes, white sandy beaches and crayon-colored sunsets sit like oases in the barren desert of his mind.

* It does not help that as the afternoon draws to a close, while he is floating in the pool, a mermaid from the cabana next door walks swimmingly toward him with a smiling face and two cups of tea.

And, of course:

* It does not help when he looks around and sees that he does not have a care in the world.

Singing the Blues is just not as easy as it used to be.