Dear Writer’s Block,
Yesterday, when I had some time and inspiration, or so I thought, Mac and I locked ourselves away with a glass of wine with the intention of me stroking his keys for a few hours of blissful creativity. That was until YOU showed up, AGAIN.
First you showed up at the coffee shop, then the park on the beach, and then today you followed me to the pool. Last week, I’m not sure, but I could have sworn I saw you on the train, like some creepy character out of a sci-fi movie gazing at me with forlorn eyes that said, “What’s the use?”
Why have you been hanging around so much lately? You’re like a stalker that won’t get the hint. Even as I write this, you keep beeping in on the other line to remind me of my failures. I thought I told you to get lost in Malaysia? How many times do we have to do this sad dance? Why are you so obsessed with me? And where the hell is my muse? Did you steal it while I was distracted by the boring medical articles I was reduced to writing for a few paltry pennies?
Well, I won’t mope with you anymore! Leave me alone; go bother some other tortured soul. Try Anne Rice or Elizabeth Gilbert for a change. I hear they are both available as they are not in need of the success.
I am a passionate woman and Mac and I have history to make together. So piss off and leave me to sit around in my knickers with my wine and my tears to plug this gaping wound!
Signed,
The Frustrated Author of 3 New Poems, and Other Random Thoughts (not including the medical articles, press releases or art catalogue content I was hired to write)
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