I woke up tired with sweat on my face. The room was still dark and in the distance I was able to read my alarm clock: 3:00 AM. I tried to go back to bed, but I was restless. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't breathe.
I got up and stumbled over to the bathroom. Washing my face, I was fully awake.
I looked at myself in the mirror and could hardly recognize myself. My hair was long and disheveled. My face looked as though I hadn't shaved in weeks. And when I think back on it, I couldn't remember the last time I had shaved.
After grabbing a cup and drinking a sip of water to soothe my dry throat, I sat at my computer. I needed to start typing – something, anything.
I'm a writer who can't figure out what to write about.
The screen was bright in the dark room and my eyes began to hurt after staring at the screen without a word being written.
My last book didn't sell very well. Riddled with cryptic messages, two interweaving plots, and an unsatisfying conclusion, reviews came out that it was simply not worth the time to read. I'd need to make this next novel simple – an easy read so that I could make money.
Frustrated, I turned off the monitor and crawled back into bed.
“I need to write something,” I thought as I tried to sleep.
But I couldn't.
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