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Writer's block she's faced before, and always found her way through. She feels sure she will this time too. Eventually. But not quite yet. For now, the best she can do is sit at her desk, alternating between lengthy gazes out the window, intermittent answers into the phone, and frustrated musings on the latest project.
idle blue inked pen
gripped between yellowy teeth
She stares at the phone, the disengaged call echoing in her mind. "I foot the bill. I choose the conventions. You write. It's my name on the cover anyway. Why do you even care?"
She sighs, wondering why that name he's so proud of is enough to sell copies, even earning him the necessary capital to purchase the piece of her soul willing to write the rubbish he demands.
such shady dealings
the ghost writer's tale