I'm not crazy...

Writer's Block is merely a figment of your... um...

"AUGH!!!" Queue the instant headache that forms after realizing all the hard work I was putting into writing was going to be put on hold. Possibly for hours. Possibly for days. One thing was definite: I wasn't going to get anymore work done at the moment and it was all because of my not-so-imaginary friend/flatmate W.B. The literal personification of Writer's Block. Only I and other writers can see (and unfortunately hear) her, however. She bothers them too, hindering their attempts to type anything with procrastination, distraction, lack of ideas and loss of memory. She's a blunt, annoying little monster who nags and complains, making me lose track of everything I was doing! It may seem funny to you, but it hurts when she does that, man! I now lay face down on the floor, routinely sulking about my misfortune. I was just getting to the good part!

“Ivory.”

“...Ivory, I asked you a question... Ivory? Why aren't you speaking to me? I asked you how your day was. You should answer.”

“...I was WRITING... My BOOK.”

"Writing? You have a terrible imagination, why would you do something like that?”

"Oh, shut up! It's mostly your fault! You made me forget my word!" She poked out her bottom lip and crossed her arms, her ghostly figure hovering over my shoulder like the nosy spirit she was.

"I did no such thing..." Queue the pouting, which happened every time I chewed her out for distracting me. Which was all. The time.

“I'm suffering here W.B., can't you give someone else grief today? For the rest of the year?”

“Grief?!” The apparent shock caused her already high-pitched shriek to rise a full three octaves, giving my poor ears a good lashing.

“Grief you say?! I've been doing nothing but helping you!”

“You made me drop what I was writing so I could clean my basement...”

“That is our basement.”

“Oh, so now it's ours? You hate going in there!”

“Of course! You can't honestly think I like being in that unhealthy basement with an ungrateful human like you! I only come down that horrid corridor when I need to speak to you, and that's challenge enough. All that filth down there could make me sick!”

I'm not crazy. I just have writer's block