Post by Write Holiday on Sept 6, 2015 8:37:44 GMT
Write Holliday opens his eyes and yawns. The sun began to hit his eyes, causing him to wake up. He sits up in his bed and goes to get up, only to feel one of three cats on his legs. Smiling and slightly chuckling, he picks it up and places it only a few inches over.
Walking, or stumbling, down the stairs he looks around his house. The Sun hasn't hit any windows on the bottom floor yet so it's all dark, very dark. He walks through the darkness as he knows everything's place by both heart and memory. After making a cup of coffee and looking around one last time, he walks over to his typewriter on a small table
After patting the other two cats and the two dogs he sits down, places his coffee next to him, and goes to write. "What?" He asks aloud, not hearing the usually tap of the hammer to paper. That would be because of the lack of paper. Suddenly his world begins to cave in: he finished his book.
Sligtly freaking out he looks around the room for paper. After gathering it he places a piece into the machine and begins to type. After the first word he stops, he has no ideas. No story, no characters, no nothing, just paper. He would continue his previous series but that was the final book. He's fresh out of ideas.
"Oh Celestia help me." He asks, walking to his front door. He opens it and sees an empty street. Closing the door he sighs. I'm going to need help if I plan on making a new book. He thinks, as he grabs a marker and piece of cardboard.
"If you are a creative person, please knock." He reads the sign out loud. He usually hates talking to new ponies strictly for work purposes, as if you're going to talk to someone, you should get to know them as a pony, not a worker. But desperate times call for desperate measures. "Now," he says to himself, "We wait." He sits down with a cat next to him and sips his coffee. Please let this work out. Please.
Walking, or stumbling, down the stairs he looks around his house. The Sun hasn't hit any windows on the bottom floor yet so it's all dark, very dark. He walks through the darkness as he knows everything's place by both heart and memory. After making a cup of coffee and looking around one last time, he walks over to his typewriter on a small table
After patting the other two cats and the two dogs he sits down, places his coffee next to him, and goes to write. "What?" He asks aloud, not hearing the usually tap of the hammer to paper. That would be because of the lack of paper. Suddenly his world begins to cave in: he finished his book.
Sligtly freaking out he looks around the room for paper. After gathering it he places a piece into the machine and begins to type. After the first word he stops, he has no ideas. No story, no characters, no nothing, just paper. He would continue his previous series but that was the final book. He's fresh out of ideas.
"Oh Celestia help me." He asks, walking to his front door. He opens it and sees an empty street. Closing the door he sighs. I'm going to need help if I plan on making a new book. He thinks, as he grabs a marker and piece of cardboard.
"If you are a creative person, please knock." He reads the sign out loud. He usually hates talking to new ponies strictly for work purposes, as if you're going to talk to someone, you should get to know them as a pony, not a worker. But desperate times call for desperate measures. "Now," he says to himself, "We wait." He sits down with a cat next to him and sips his coffee. Please let this work out. Please.