What does he do when he can't write? Be it from the so-called writer's block that he doesn't believe exists or the lack of writer's mood that he does. The answer is simple: he writes anyway. Usually it's crap, but sometimes there's a forced breakthrough in a creative process most claim is all too reliant on "flow." But he knows that's bullshit, too... even the naturals have to work at it. They all say so. Then again, there is the possibility that those naturals are just being polite, smiling to his face then laughing at him as soon as he turns away. He imagines the conversation happening behind his back:
"That silly bastard," Bob, a natural writer, would say. "He'll never know what it's like to just be able to write."
"I know," John, another natural writer, would reply. "Maybe we should just tell him the truth."
"What truth?" Bob might ask.
Then John could answer, "That he should aspire to something else."
But Bob, being the insufferably arrogant artistic type, would retort, "Are you fucking kidding? And ruin our fun?"
He remembers advice given to him when he was younger, advice he very much tried to follow. "Go live life," he was told, "because if you don't have anything to write about, you won't have anything to write." Redundant in its structure, he thinks he finally understands it now. If he is to write about murder, for instance, he should experience murder.
There's to be a smile when he reads tomorrow's headline: Bob and John Found Dead. And there's to be, perhaps, a book deal.