Razza. Fragga.

I am stymied. Stymied is the single most appropriate word for the state I am currently in. It is also the last word I have. I'm out. Of words.

Writer's Block is a real bitch.

I'm sitting on an idea. A good idea. A very good idea, in my own opinion; with scads of potential, through which I would love to romp. Yes, romp. In slow-motion if the mood struck me.

Sadly the only thing that's striking is a goddamned case of Writer's Block preventing me from getting past page nine.

Will it pass? Probably. The problem is that when it comes to the muse, I am 100% her bitch. I can do nothing to get her back faster. So.

This is me, twiddling my thumbs.

... Dammit.