A great hero charges a spawn of hell itself, his sword gleaming in the light of the burning village. Great armies clash in the sky, thousands of wings beating desperately against the clouds. Pirates guide a rolling ship across the dessert, clouds of red dust filling the air behind them. A great healer stands over the stricken, her hands red from the blood of her charges. Children cry out in happiness as their fathers return home from a war they thought they could never win. A man searches for himself as he guards a hated enemy with his life. So many stories, so many grand adventures, so many enthralling tales just waiting to be told! And none of them will ever know the light of day.
My frustration is building to dangerous levels as I stare at the half finished story in front of me, the words refusing to come as they once had. The tale so far is crude and unrefined, executed with the skill of a fourth grader. Tears begin to fall from my face, two years worth of frustration leaking forth from the bottle I had tried so valiantly to contain it in. I crumple up the paper and hurl it at the wall, pledging to never again spin a tale so long as I live! I rest my chin on my hands, my mind thinking dark thoughts. The clock ticks over the minutes. I glance at my note pad, the scribbles and jots of half a dozen hashed stories condemning me. I picked at them in my mind, tearing at the dozens of flaws that riddled them so. And from those flaws I unearth a new story, pure and unexpected. It feels right in a way, almost as if I were meant to write this. It is a feeling I remember well from my early days of writing. I shake my head, knowing that it will fail as so many others had. I had poured my heart and soul into countless short stories and novels, and each and every one of them had failed in one way or another. Why should this one be any different? And yet………..

My hand reaches for my pen, my soul pouring forth once more.