That’s it. I’m done. I’ve got nothing more.
(Click on the table)
“You expect me to work independently, without you? Like, I can just crawl inside that pea-brain and figure out the words on my own?”
(Silence with only breathing)
“I know you’re struggling, sitting there with your head in your hands, taking deep sighs expecting some muse to suddenly appear. But, I can’t do this without you! We have to do it together.“
“Okay… I get it. You’re not paying attention to me because you’ve run out of ideas, you think your writing all sounds the same like some banal-grey-oatmeal-mush of blah! Ya, and maybe you’re even feeling a bit sorry for yourself in your impotence, like some imposter pretending to be a writer, maybe even pretending to a be a teacher – and ya, I know that one hurts the most, but, geez… Get a grip on me and start! Start somewhere! Hell, start anywhere. Start in India on the balcony of some lush palace. Start in Australia in a remote village. Start…”
Wait, what? Why would I want to start somewhere that I’ve never been?
“Because you’ve never been.”
(Click from the table)
I guess I could write some kind of a dialogue, but, not one with people – done that already. Maybe…one with an object. Like a pen, and even if it doesn’t feel good, at least I’m writing something different and stretching myself.
“Uh huh. Looks like you’re already done.”