I poised my pencil above a blank piece of paper placed in front of me, like a fencer at the ready. This is it, I tell myself, I'm one step closer to my dream, to become an aspiring author of children and adults alike. My book will bring a spark of light to minds everywhere in this dull, mundane life. I'll take the world by storm!
'But for that day to come, you have to start writing.' my consciousness pointed out. I reluctantly pulled myself out of my wonderful daydream and looked down at that accursed piece of paper. Out of frustration, I crumpled it up and throw it blindly behind me, probably joining its many kin on the floor.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. Drink, I need a drink. I automatically reached for the cup resting beside me and put it to my lips. I grimaced. Ugh, cold coffee. With a groan, I stood up and trudged towards my kitchen.
As I leaned against the island counter, with a can of cold beer in hand, my eyes watched absent-mindedly at employees running back and forth in the office complex opposite my apartment. Soon, the can was nearly empty when I sighed, feeling defeated. It's time to face the music. There's no point denying it. The worst case scenario that happens to writers everywhere is now happening to me.
I...have writer's block.
