The Curse Of The Writer

Swaying back and forth in his chair, hoping the motion will ensure inspiration, The Writer focuses on his blank computer monitor. Hands at his sides; hoping the word processor software will simply pull ideas from the circuitry of the computer system.

“AHHH!” The Writer has gone mad at this point. First, he tried the logical decision of asking his Facebook friends and Twitter followers for ideas. Sadly, “the origin of the monkey butt”, “dickbutt” and “why Justin Beiber’s hair should be pink” didn’t excite The Writer enough.

“Why?!?! Why today!?… It’s like I can’t even… Ah-HA! I got it! POETRY!”

And so he begins.

The Writer stretches a few times, mashes his flesh and bones into his well-worn keyboard and spews out a passage:

For words are none
We’ve nearly begun
The battle has been won
Chicken bun

The Writer pauses for a second. Soon the lapse catches up to him and he realizes his own system has betrayed him.

“CHICKEN BUN?!?!?!” he exclaims wildly, followed by a couple reps of pounding his fists into his keyboard. Individual keys flying every which way, one even kissing The Writer’s right eye.

“Owww!” he yells more and runs away to his only safe haven. The place where he doesn’t need to write for the masses.

You guessed it, the couch and the streaming services.

The Writer couldn’t even be bothered with watching yet another YouTube video on writing. No, it’s straight to service hopping.

He got some Netflix, some Disney+ and even a bit of Prime in before it hit him.

“That’s it!” The Writer yelled out with a big grin spanning his face.

This followed by The Writer grabbing his nearby laptop. Yes, the laptop that idly sits by the couch, waiting for the instant moments of inspiration.

He then punched out a 20 minute article on why streaming services are such a waste of time and how they are only interested in your soul. Except, The Writer used “soul” as clever symbolism for you money.

I mean, he is The Writer after all.