It's that imaginary wall that stops all writers at some point in their career. When you try to write and all you come up with is. . .
*Throws pencil at wall* Grrrrr!
Damn you pencil!
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.
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Ok Now I'm talking to a pencil, great.
I feel like I'm grasping at air when my idea is smoke, I can feel when I get one but then it slips around my fingers, laughing as I try again.
It doesn't help that my mind is filled with other thoughts.: A dance I'm not going to with my girl because we weren't invited and can't sneak in; my father diagnosed with Celiac and me possibily having it too; having played all my games, read all my books, and seen all my movies so many times I know them all by heart; I proclaim "All I can do is write. . . But. . .That damned wall is blocking my way."
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