The Writer's Curse
The Writer's CurseThe blinking line on the screen flickered on and off in a steady rhythm. He had timed it. It blinked once per second in perfect sync with his system clock. He began to suspect that it was actually programmed to do that, but he would ask his friend to check the scripting at a later date. The writer had work to do for now. Well, he kept telling himself that his meaningless typing on the keyboard was work, but all it did was function as a glorified hobby. His stories had made people happy, satisfied his cravings, and even earned him a few favors... but they would never pay the bills. A black claw tapped rather hard on the edge of the laptop before being followed with an angry grunt. Lack of recognition and material gain was the main reason why he usually did not want to write. "Nah, that's what the art whores are for. Look at us! We'll charge you based on our popularity and not our skill! All you watchers and subscribers are addicted to instant gratification from a sexy image! Pay us rather than a writer who paints with words instead of a four hundred dollar tablet!", he said in a cruel and mocking tone. A little voice of reason in his head immediately rebutted him. "That's not fair and you know it. Many of them genuinely work hard doing something they love. Sketching, writing, origami, sculpting, music, dancing... They are all art forms. The only difference is the medium."
The writer shook his head with a sigh. He could not let himself fall back into those bitter cycles of jealousy, depression, and underhanded fame grabs. No, he needed to legitimately climb his way to the top, and use any petty obstacles as stepping stones to get there. He just needed that one breakout hit. All he needed was a single amazing attention grabber. After that, the drive to write more after seeing the public's reaction would surely increase. If things went well enough, then he may even write enough to get something printed. After that, glorious profits! He actually had to start writing at some point or another, though. His grey eyes once again fell onto the blinking line waiting on his screen. It would mark his progress on the page.
"I need a story. A story does not need characters. A story does not need dialogue. A story does not need a tone. A story does not need progression. A story does need a setting. A story does need imagery." The list of minimal and optional inclusions in a piece rolled through his mind. Black-furred ears twitched in anticipation. He proceeded to type up an opening line as ideas flowed from his brain, into his fingers, into the keys, and onto the screen.
"Once upon a time..." He backspaced with a self-mocking laugh. He could not really begin like that, could he? Flow of consciousness was rarely a successful writing method, and it certainly was not looking good if his first few words were the classic fairy tale opening. No, there would be some planning required.
"Two lovers. One is a fairly normal person, while the other is outwardly mean but secretly cares... Wait. No. That's been done. It's been done so often that the Japanese have a term for it." A heartbroken sigh escaped from between his lips. He did have new ideas, but they were tied up in a different story that he could not bring himself to continue at this point in his life. Lyrics from a song he had not heard in a rather long time flowed through his head. "Rah rah rah! There's nothing new...under the sun...." A toothy grin covered the fuzzy face. The song was referring to sexual acts, but it fit every other aspect of humanity's thoughts just as well.
"There are new things. We just need to consider them. The future. One thousand years from now, the galaxy is threatened by a mysterious substance that absorbs and imitates organic matt- oh, wait. Mister Carpenter would sue me if I wrote that." The sharpened claw tapped at the corner of the keyboard again. This was the second reason why he did not want to write. New ideas were difficult. He had created some before, but he felt as if he had expended his lifetime quota on a different project.
"The last dragon on- No. The first sentient creature ever opened its compound eyes to see- I am not making a new genesis story. Too pretentious. Can I parody something?" He ran through more potential plots. Almost everything that he believed that he could write well had already been written by someone else before he was even born. Even if he was the universe's greatest writer, he could not go back in time to be the first to do something. He briefly entertained odd notions of writing a story about someone inventing a time machine so that they could do just that, but then remembered that someone had already written that story, as well. "Well... drat."
That is when he realized something. "Greatest...better... I do not have to be creative and make something entirely new... I just have to be able to do it much better than it was done before!" His heart skipped a few beats. This revelation brought new hope to him. On some level it was deliciously twisted. He had to overcome the stigma of writing something that was unoriginal, but was so masterfully created that nobody would care about the original any longer. It was a challenge, and one that he would love to rise to. He had a goal now, even if it was a horrifically misguided one. The writer began to type...