I spent my whole childhood being told I was a great writer, and that I was destined to grow up to be a bestselling, prolific writer. Now I'm a middle-aged man without a single published work. I can't pull a fucking plot together no matter how much I try.

I thought, while I was waiting for an actual idea to come to me, that maybe I could write erotica under a pen name and sell it on Amazon. I created a folder pull of picture prompts, of hentai, real life. Thought maybe I could draw inspiration from those. But no, I can't even get two lesbians scissoring on a couch to tell me who they are, what their relationship is, and what inspired them to fuck.

I've had a week long summer break from work. It's almost over, and I have put nothing on a page. This nagging voice inside says, "You're SUPPOSED To be getting shit done. You're SUPPOSED To be meeting a word count. There is no such thing as writer's block. You're making excuses to be lazy."

It's over. I'm just fucked, aren't I?