He didn’t even want to write, that much was clear.
The blank page on his laptop stared back at him menacingly as he attempted to source the first few words for his latest project.
There were times he couldn’t keep his fingers off the keyboard, and then there were times like these. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find it in himself to finish the task he set out to conquer.
He stepped away from the desk and put his head in a book to try capturing some inspiration, but he couldn’t help feeling like all the words were extending an inky finger out from their pages in order to mock him and his creative infertility.
He threw the book off his balcony to teach the terrorizing little words a lesson, and to share his love of literature with the world below.
He would often spiral into a fit of existential anxiety whenever he couldn’t find it in himself to transfer his thoughts into sets of well-orchestrated sentences.
These were the same philosophical bouts that raged within him as he asked himself the questions that truly kept him up at night.
Questions such as; “Why was Justice League released in national theaters?” or “How did a room full of people approve of the script to Justice League?” and lastly “How did none of the actors in Justice League perform an act of Seppuku at the premiere?”
Eventually, the man went back to his desk to try tackling the creative spirit that had been eluding him all day.
After rubbing the temple of his head for three hours straight, he finally figured out the solution to his problem.
He would try again tomorrow.