Writer's Block.

I don't know if I'm normal. I tend to doubt it. But my creativity comes and goes as it pleases. There are days when I'm so full of creative energy I cannot rest until I've written an entire chapter. Then there are weeks (or months) when I sit for hours in front of a white screen, writing and rewriting It was a dark and rainy night. Dark the night was. The night was dampish. The night was humid. Like a really humid humidity. Crap. Crap. Crap.

And then I get a bowl of Breyers and watch whatever design show I DVRed for such depressing occasions when reality tv is actually more paletable than the actual reality that I'm not the great writer I sometimes imagine I am.

But I rock The Office Trivial Pursuit. I promise you that.

I have to take what I can. My book is no closer to being finished than it was three months ago except that I am thisclose to killing off every character via radioactive spider. Which is, by the way, exactly what Stephanie Meyer should have done. I would have actually really enjoyed that.

"You cannot form a rational thought or walk without injuring yourself but your blood smells super AMAZING. Marry me Bella."
"No way! I'm too young to make that kind of commitment...turn me into a minion of the eternally damned."
"Seriously? If your smell wasn't so intoxicating to my vampiric senses I might think you were boarderline retarded."
"Oh Edward- you're so irresistably, so irrevocably pale and sparkly- AHHHH SPIDER KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!"

Too late. Death by Radioactive spider. The End.