ARTICLES

I bent over the keyboard typing furiously. In the last 5 minutes, I’d gotten interrupted three times by three different members of my family, and I could feel my inspiration slowly fading away. At a slight knock at the door, I stood up, enraged. How dare someone enter the premises when the artist was at work?

The computer screen mocked me. The plain white document sneered at me, daring me to write something. Hands shaking, I slowly touched the keyboard. 

And.

Just.

Froze.

My mind blanked out, and I had no idea what to write about.

I groaned as I opened up my WIP. I’d been writing the story for about two weeks, and I was already tiring of it. 

I briefly read over a bit of it, and felt my discouragement growing. Why had I thought this was such a great idea in the first place?