I just posted a six-sentence story called Simon's Novel here.
Simon was desperate to write his novel, but was caught in a creative paradox. He wrote best when his life was turbulent: when wife, kids and work demanded his time and his mind and his inner strength. This was when he really felt and understood life; themes and plots and words flowed like water amidst the chaos, hastily recorded on a notepad, or on the computer – when he could get the kids away from it. Occasionally a moment of respite came, when children were on camp, or with grandparents, and his wife was just wanted to read a book or visit friends.
"Go, write your book," she would say, "and enjoy the quiet; take advantage of it."
And so Simon would site behind the computer, trying to remember the emotions and words of the hectic times; watching the cursor flash and writing nothing.