Listen, the reason you’re not writing is just plain ol’ laziness. There’s no conspiracy involved.
Okay, technically, the part where those rather expensive Italian gremlins keep turning up your heat so you’re perpetually about 8 degrees too warm, they MAY have done some coordinating with the tiny Yeti. And obviously, the Yeti could only have become so small if they were connected, to, say, some of the scientists the Gremlins worked with in the first World War.
Which would explain why they make sure that, if you finally get a temperature you like, they drop it a good 16 degrees to low. To be fair, that’s more comfortable for them anyway. So it’s probably all a coincidence.
After all, who would possibly want to keep you from writing?
Other than rivals, obviously. Are you successful enough to have enemies?
Or could it be a family member? Let’s assume your family loves you – I mean, why be depressing about this? So they love you. Of course they don’t want you to be a writer. The long hours, the frustration, the even longer hours, the time in seclusion – it can’t be healthy. It’s for your own good.
Granted, this doesn’t explain the gremlins, the yeti, the shrink ray, or the time machine. What time machine? Come on; you know perfectly well that when writing’s going well, you can write for six months or so and not stop for air, much less a sandwich or a peck on the cheek of the ol’ spouse. And when it’s going slowly, it’s like that Temporal Stasis spell from the Tomb of Horrors. That’s just a fact.
Now, this is one of those silly fluff pieces which talks about how hard it is to write. It might have been vaguely funny in the 80s, if there were a couple more jokes. Obviously, there’s no conspiracy stopping you from writing, and writing’s just hard and the key is persistence.
At least, that’s what I want you to believe, rival.
