The Writer Who Lost His Identity

[Josh McGrath]

Sitting alone at his desk, he twirled a pushpin in this hand pressing it against his fingers just enough to hint at pain.  Three different pens and legal paper were unused in front of the writer in yellow light of a small lamp.  “I’m feeling lost, lonely and distracted”, he told the unsuspecting pin.  “The voices I hear from all over are shrill, sneaky or vapid; they pollute and cover me in a rubbery film. They are so powerful, I can only hope to gasp for air, meekly waggle my tongue in an occasional hard-fought rip in the film.”  He pushes with all his might, but with little success the pin into barely dents his wooden, warped desk as he leaves the room, the writing instruments untouched.

[Angela]

Good description of that blocked, frustrated feeling.