I love the idea of a writer’s muse turning up. This is a great story.
I sit here, staring at the screen, lost in the emptiness of the blank page, frozen, like a lifeless, wordless, thoughtless mannequin. I feel the saliva slowly run down my lip and drop softly onto my chin and start its journey downward. How long have I been sitting here? How long have I contemplated writing words on the screen, words, any words, I know writers block sucks, but my words mean so much more than you can understand to the eagerly awaiting audience who sit waiting at my door, for something new to read. Has it been days? The knock on my door makes me jump, and I wearily look towards it.
“Go away, come back tomorrow, I’ll have words for you then,” I yell, and the banging stops. Slowly I turn back to the screen, why do they hound me? Why do they never leave me alone? I stare…
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