A boredom like none other creeps up on an aspiring writer. This writer is now vulnerable to the worst disease a writer could have: Writers Block. She searches her room desperately for something that could offer some spark of creativity, but every object is just as dull and blank as the paper in front of her. Usually, even the simplest object can offer a thunderstorm of brilliant ideas, but not today. Today, the author suffers from a serious case of the dreaded Writers Block.

Wandering her house, she begs for an idea from any object or person she comes across. Her interesting family normally provides a never-ending supply of inspiration, but today they seem far away and boring.

Cursing the world, she asks herself why thinking of an idea is so difficult. Why isn’t the world offering the natural inspiration it usually does?

Days pass and the Writers Block only worsens. School, neighbors, and her everyday life are lacking the verve she uses for her stories, and every idea she thinks of gets shot down by its own lack of originality and structure.

The writer stares at her computer screen, occasionally typing a sentence, only to delete it moments later. She wonders when thinking of a creative idea became so hard, and remembers the days when her brain was like a mine full of treasures like plots, characters, and clever twists to captivate a reader. Pressing her hands to her head, she tries to squeeze an idea out, but all she gets is a headache.

Before long, the symptoms of Writers Block reach an unbearable level. The writer feels as though everything in her life is trying to steal her creative spirit. Every time a teacher or parent speaks, she can feel her inspiration draining away, leaving her dry and thirsty for something, anything, that could offer an idea for her to write about.

Following advice from peers, the writer listens to what feels like millions of songs, and reads as many books as possible to give herself a break from the deadly Writers Block. No other hobby or activity can distract her from the storm cloud of doubt and dumb ideas. Seriously, she asks the world, why is this so hard? Ideas used to cascade from her brain like a roaring waterfall, and now she feels as though the waterfall has tried up completely.

After weeks of the never-ending fog of boredom and feeling as though the creative part of her mind has been surgically removed, the writer stares once again at her computer, screaming on the inside. A million flashes of inspiration pass within seconds of each other, none of them holding anything useful.

Then, a knock at the door causes her to spring from her chair, desperate for a distraction. The man at the door is nondescript, but the writer feels a lightning strike of pure creativity as she signs for the package he delivers. Running to her computer, she begins writing before she even sits down.