Shenay never liked writing stories. They were too much effort on her part. Ever since she and Darrel had split, life was getting tough in the Bronx. So what did Shenay do? She turned to the one thing she never liked writing: stories.

“Now, what should I write here first?” Shenay asked herself, pencil pursed between her luscious, ebony lips. “Maybe I’ll write about a whale! Yea! That sounds good: a great, big whale! Humph, now what should this great, big whale be doing?”

Good question. Shenay had never experienced what she was experiencing right now. It was as if she couldn’t put the next word on the page, no matter how hard she tried. Writer’s block.

“Shiiiit! This story isn’t going to write itself!” Shenay wrote down a word:

“Call”

It was a good word. It was a good way to start a story. Besides, Shenay’s phone was ringing anyhow! A sign for sure!

“Who they think they callin’?”

“me”

“Ahhh, yeah, this is gettin’ good…”

“Ishmael.”

Shenay was on her way to writing an American classic.