Okay so this is pretty much just a quick thing I wrote about writer's block whilst I was trying to write more of my new Twilight fanfic, which you should all go read once I have it up. It's called "Fate's Deception" -currently being Beta'd and written. I haven't written ages and it's so frustrating. I just can't do it for some reason. So tonight I was sitting at my desk trying to write and in the end I wrote about having writer's block because nothing else would come out. I read it and it made me giggle a bit, so I hope you enjoy it.
Not beta'd, completely raw. Enjoy :)
Yes I have writers block. The blank page haunted me for years, the longest writer's block I'd ever hear of. The ideas flew in but never out. The words never left my mind. They were never perfectly printed onto the clean white paper that awaited their presence. No. Instead they buried themselves deep within my mind refusing to rise. Almost like a young child refusing to get out of bed in the early mornings to get themselves dressed and groomed for school. Even with pressure of readers, they stuck themselves to the walls of my brain. Refusing, ever so annoyingly. I begged and I begged, but the white paper didn't appear any less white. It's quite pretty-the white paper- the way it sits upon my desk nice and clean, unused and awaiting a fantastic story to fill it up like a large breakfast. It's almost like the chef was cooking but the meals would never be delivered. In fact that's exactly what it's like. The poor white page, growing hungry for a delicious story, but it wasn't coming. So perhaps if he orders something different he may get it? Instead of that delightful breakfast, the smells wafting through the room just begging to be tried, he changes his order for something simpler. Maybe without being so demanding he will get something rather than nothing. Even if it ends up being a less than perfect lunch; even if it ends up being a string of random sentences and metaphors strung together to form something not like breakfast…but lunch. The poor page had no choice but to settle for lunch. He wouldn't be getting breakfast today. He wouldn't be filled with a wonderfully, emotionally damaging story full of plot twists, romances and frustrating yet oh so delightful cliff-hangers. Instead he got lunch. And even though he was no longer as alive and powerful as breakfast would have made him, he was alert and awake- getting through the day by surviving on those few rambling sentences that the apologetic author provided. And yes she was sorry. She wanted breakfast just as much as the beautiful white paper wanted it. But her mind was stubborn and refused to release those wonderful words that made breakfast. The words formed little huddles at the back of her mind, and occasionally decided to play tricks on the poor author but releasing themselves in the wrong order. They formed appallingly bad sentences that made no sense, and if on the rare occasion they made sense, they led to nowhere and once again the author was pressing backspace and getting ready to have a stare off with the white page once again. Yes I have writer's block. And yes… this is lunch.
Hope you enjoyed my oh so random mind :) Thanks for reading - Amy