If I start writing this, something, somewhere, somehow will go horribly wrong. The demons of my writer's block will make sure of that. Their wicked machinations know no end. They twist and claw at my destiny with no remorse. And so, many ideas and stories and wonders crash onto the shores of my conscience and I can't do a thing about it. I fear my conscience will soon be a graveyard; a graveyard for my own grave too. At least I shall be buried with my own stories. They shall keep me warm in the hells of my afterlife. And so I have written. And so I hear them come. And so I hear them twist. And so I die.
wonderful representation of writer's block (I'm going to scurry off and write before the demons get me, too :)*
Thank you! Really appreciate it. Do check out my other stories. :)
At least the ideas and stories and wonders are still crashing onto the shores. The ocean is deep. There is hope.
That something as horrifying as writer's block can be conveyed with such pretty prose means we're winning the fight against it.