Writer’s block, what a cock.

It came on November the third, a chance to work with the written word. A London Theatre was the place, to get selected would’ve been ace. Twenty Seven days I had to compose, Twenty Seven days and my concepts froze. I sat and I waited, for plots contemplated, but alas it was wasted, not a word was created. The days moved past and essays came fast, out on the town I had such a blast, the writer’s void grew ever more vast… The deadline hit me aghast. Oh there you are, unlocked creativity, free from your writer’s block captivity? So here we are, irritation growing, the chance is now gone, and with anger still strong… only now do the ideas start flowing!

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