“Ole Writer’s Block”
Good evening writers,
and welcome to Writer’s Block Village & Inn.
We’re glad you could join us
on the night before your due date.
My name is Benjamin Boredom,
but you can call me Bo.
I’ll be your tour guide, alongside
Miss Melanie Museless.
If you look to your right,
you’ll see our Reconstruction Site
where your ideas are torn apart
and attached to other ones.
We do this to make you question
your ability to write like a sane person.
During our last tour, I had a woman taken
to our psych ward for evaluation
due to her insane outbreak.
She told me,
“My love for you is a knife
pointed at my chest.”
Who would say such a thing?
To your left, is the Self-Doubt Station
that feeds your brain just what it needs
to make you feel like a failure.
Man in the khakis, come on up.
I’d like for you to put this headset on.
You may feel small tubes sliding inside your ears.
This is normal, as it is allowing harsh
criticism to flow through to your brain.
SIR! YOU CANNOT JUST
RUN DOWN THAT HALL CRYING
LIKE A BABY,
BECAUSE I FORGOT MY CAMERA
TO TAPE OUR PROMOTIONAL VIDEO!
Oh, boy.
Well, let’s just move on. Shall we?
Up ahead, you’ll notice our
Useless Idea Crematory, where all your ideas
eventually get crushed and burned to ash.
If you’d like, you can deposit the
right side of your brain into the crematory
before we move on.
If you are in need of a shoulder
to cry on, you will need to pay a fee
for utilizing additional services.
Now, as we continue to walk,
you will see our Resident Quarters,
where you will all be staying.
All you’ll need to do is sign your name,
provide the title of your current creative work,
and your next due date on this form.
I should warn you before you settle in,
there have been rumors of ghosts
haunting these quarters.
The latest sightings have been
The Ghost of Grammatical Errors Past,
The Ghost of Bad Metaphors, and
The Ghost of Ole Writer’s Block, himself.
If they keep you up during the night,
we’d love if you could
leave us a review on Facebook
or Twitter using the hashtags
#WritersBlock and #WheresMyMuse.
Sleep tight,
my writing friends.
I hope the ghosts bite.
I mean,
don’t let the ghosts bite…