I quit my job. I quit volunteering. I am well-rested. My office is clean. My desk a clutter-free, pristine horizontal landscape. My magnetic storyboard is up. Chapters laid out. Characters listed. My family ignores me. My cell phone is on silent. My email is shut down.
Gentle music plays in the background, massaging my brain. My humidifier is ejecting the perfect puffs of mist to prevent my eyes from drying out. The sun is streaming through the study window. Cats doze with tiny snores on the reading chair. My hot cup of tea is at the ready. My chair is at the perfect height. The blank screen beckons me.
And beckons me…
Is there a writer in the house?