A Letter To Writer's Block

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Dear Writer's Block,

You're a useless piece of shit. Why do you exist? What is your purpose in the life of an author other than hindering their creative process? Why do you come regularly, like a woman's period? I don't know the answers to those questions either. As of late, you haven't been bothering me, but I remember when you were—last year, you were such a big pain in the ass, not only did I have to get a colonoscopy, but it also forced me to put my book, Deadly Secrets on hold for more than six months.

Everything has a purpose in life, but for the life of me, I can't think of what your purpose is supposed to be. All you make me, and hundreds of other writers do, is procrastinate. You make me do everything BUT write. You make me listen to music, go for a jog, watch movies, drag bitches through hell and back...everything, but writing. Maybe this is your way of giving me inspiration, your way of saying, "Hey, your writing is becoming stale. You should take a break and focus on something else for a while." or "I'm a bored motherfucker with no life. I like to see your follower count decrease at the speed of light and your non-updated book spiral downwards into the dark, forgotten corners of Wattpad." 

I really don't know, and like the mysteries of life—like the #AllLivesMatter movement and the creation of crocs—maybe we're never meant to understand your stupidity. Seriously, though, please don't bother me anymore. I'm currently on a writing spree. I'm revising my book and writing one chapter per day; time is a concern for me and I'd like to finish fixing this work before I can properly move on to the other (which you have forced me to put on hold until I get the inspiration to continue writing it).

Bottom-line is: you have a week to leave planet Earth, after which I will take you, your momma, all your belongings, and project y'all into the sun. 

Unkind regards,

Every Fucking Author. 

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