She stared at the blank Word document, hoping for something to come out. Nothing did except the words “I suck”. And her next sentence, “I will never be a writer” came out “I wlil never be a wirter”, proving that even Word hated her.
What happened to those days when she’d take out a fresh notebook and start a wonderful new story? What happened to the days when she’d discontinue the story three days later and not even be bothered by it? What happened to the days when she’d chose acting out a scene in her room over TV and computer any day?
She put her head in her hands. Maybe she wasn’t made for this after all. I mean, she’d only wanted to be a writer for fifteen years, right? She could be wrong. Maybe she was secretly destined to be an astronaut.
She snorted. Yeah, an astronaut. Thanks but no thanks. She wanted to be a writer.
Maybe depression was good. She actually didn’t mind. It’s good to be able to slip into different moods. Makes writing characters easier. Hey, maybe she ought to write down how she was feeling now! It might come in handy…Who knows? Maybe one day she’d have a depressed character to write…
Yes, she had better get this down before her depression went away.
"She stared at the blank Word document, hoping for something to come out..."
Clickity, click, click, click, clickity, clack, clickity, click…