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    The pen hovered over a simple sheet of paper, the only marks on it being red and blue lines meant to keep foreign markings from shifting off their destined course.  Yet the lines felt as if they had no purpose on this night because there were no dark markings to guide towards a path that would lead to so many possibilities.  The truth, however, was more cruel than what an innocent bystander would have thought if they were passing by the coverless windows and, by chance, looked into the darkened room with only a single candle burning, giving little light for the person hidden in shadow that appeared to be leaning over a simple desk covered by pages of unused paper, a single pen with ink like the night sky in their hand.  The very page set before the shadowed figure was the very same page that was void of any sign of use for several months.  This simple yet terrible fact was the silver pendulum swinging over the writer’s head like the sharpened blade of a guillotine starving for their neck and their life.  Perhaps even their soul.

    For what felt like hours but what was truly a meager three seconds the ink made its journey to the tip of the pen, waiting for the moment the writer’s fingers would guide the pen though it’s precious course where it would meet the page in a passionate yet gentle kiss.  Yet this moment never seemed to come, and the pen continued to wait like a patient lover.

    The writer lost focus for just a second, causing the pen to fall onto the blank pages before them.  Looking down at the growing blossom of ink as it disregarded the barrier of blue lines and made its own darkened path, tainting the surface meant for words, the writer did nothing but watch as if in fascination or irritation, or perhaps a mixture of both.  

    Placing their face in their hands, the writer groaned at their misfortune.  It had been so long since a single story passed through their eager mind and words fell from their graceful hands onto the fragile leaves of pages.  They felt there was no hope that there would ever be another idea that would bring back the inspiration they so desperately craved. 

    A chill passed over the writers trembling fingers, bringing with it an overwhelming feeling of dread.  The writer knew of only one person who could freeze the very air they breathed, of only one creature created from suffering and threaded with the threads of trickery.

    “Well, well. well, it seems that you are in a tight little spot, my dear.  Are you missing something?  Or perhaps, someone?  Did you miss me?”

    A hand of polished marble rested on the writers shoulder like Poe’s raven, digging sharp ebony talons into their soft flesh.  The pain was more than the writer could bear, yet they had little choice in the matter.  There was never a choice when it came to this hauntingly beautiful creature that turned the writer’s chair so that they were looking into the dangerously angelic eyes they knew like their own soul.

    Standing before the writer was the figure of a woman of strange beauty that few had ever seen.  Pale yet gentle skin covered razor bones like a dagger hidden by silk.  A gown of raven’s feathers and the night sky cloaked her elegant form, hiding all but her fine fingers and her Grecian features.  Caramelized strands of honey hung past her soft shoulders and down her back like a golden waterfall.  Her aquamarine eyes shone bright like the moon that hung above the ceiling protecting them from the falling stars in the form of droplets as her rosy lips curled into a sadistic smile at the writer’s suffering.

    “Why were you gone for so long,” sneered the writer, anger biting the words that fell from their lips. “I have been sitting here for what feels like months and it may well be that long, I don’t know and frankly I don’t care.  You were gone when I most needed you and after all this time you finally decide to show up without even a sign of remorse, just that stupid, sickly smile of yours.  Do you feel any guilt for leaving me like this?  Do you care about me at all?  Do you even have a heart, or is there just an empty hole where it’s supposed to be?”

    The muse glared at the writer, her eyes burning daggers into their skin.  Her sharpened fingers dug deeper into the writer’s flesh until they cried out in pain.  The muse soon released her deadly hold, velvety drops of scarlet slowly spilling from three tiny lines onto the fabric of the writer’s shirt, who cold only stare in shock at the very real marks.

    “Do you peg me for a fool?  Are you really that dense?  Have spiders invaded your skull and made their nests in the hollow space where your brain is meant to be?  I have given you this gift that many would take a thousand lives for, and this is how you treat it, how you treat me!?  I only give such an honor to those I know are worthy of it and who will use it to their greatest potential.  Did you truly believe that I would waste my time and gift on someone it would be wasted on?  And might I ask, do you think I am a bird that can be placed in a pretty cage and told when to sing at your leisure?  When I am gone, it is only when I have the confidence in you, the one you so severely lack, that you can create a masterpiece, and all on your own.  Do you think you are alone in your struggles?  I am always by your side, you just don’t see me because you are so wrapped up in your precious pride.  Well, I’m here, when you need me most, as I always will be.  Now, why don’t you tell me what is troubling you, my dear writer, and together we will spin this earth on its axis.  That is, if you still want me.”

    The writer gazed at their muse, seeing them as if for the very first time.  Her words felt like a balm to their injured mind, painful yet soothing.  The wounds on their shoulder had stopped bleeding a long time ago, and the writer could barely remember their existence, let alone how they came to be.

    “You are right,” the writer confessed, their heart filled with bittersweet guilt, “you were always there for me.  I’m sorry I have treated you so cruelly.  I have no right to be forgiven.”

    The muse tilted the writers face so that they had no choice but to look into the gentle eyes of their angel.

    “Of course I forgive you, each and every day, just as I know you will always forgive me.”

    The muse picked up the pen off of the now unblemished page and set it lovingly in the writer’s hand.  For the first time in many months, the writer’s lips curved into a blissful smile.  The pen eagerly caressed the lined page as it surrendered to the dark ink in a lovers promise, marking for all time the simple beauty of the words that would forever rest in the hearts and minds of those who would look upon the story of a writer and their muse.

How many writers do you know have this problem?  I know I do.

My entry for the "My Own Worst Enemy" contest:

Edit: Got Honorable Mention. Even though I didn't place I feel happy about it, and thank you all for the comments and faves, they make me (and my muse) feel special.

Edit: Fixed a few things.
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Hello, here's the critique I promised you.

So, first of all, i have to confess that i'm not a big fan of writers writing about how hard writing is. I mean, i know the difficulty exists etc but i just find it really clichéd. That said, you have some really good things in this so i'll forgive the subject matter.

You're really good at writing vivid description. There are some lines in here that are beautifully written and really stand out. That said, there is also a bit too much of it. For me, it slowed down the pace quite a lot and sometimes i feel like your descriptions are a bit abstract and make me think "wait, what's actually being described here?"
For example, "Yet the lines felt as if they had no purpose on this night because there were no dark markings to guide towards a path that would lead to so many possibilities."

I'm a big fan of simple yet meaningful sentences and i think you'd benefit by mixing your sentence structure so that there is a mix of long and short sentences, especially since some of your sentences are as long as 79 words which for me is a bit of a slog.

Although, i like your description, i don't like the paragraph that describes the muse very much. I'd prefer it if you described her as she was doing something or as something happened using little snippets of detail rather than information dumping in the middle. I mean, i have a good image of her which of course is excellent if that's what you were going for, but i felt like it slowed down the pace just when it was starting to get interesting.

I think you should rephrase this sentence: "I would waste my time and gift on someone it would be wasted on" because it's sort of going around in circles. Sort of like if i were to say "The boy played football with the football" well, yeah. What else was he going to play football with? I mean sure, he could've played football with something else but i'd assume that he played with the football if it wasn't specified that he played with something else.
I think the "wasted on" part should be substituted for something like "I would waste my time and gift on someone *who i didn't believe in/who wasn't worthy/who couldn't do it*" etc.

"When I am gone, it is only when I have the confidence in you, the one you so severely lack, that you can create a masterpiece, and all on your own." - i was confused by this sentence. The one what?

The only other thing i can point out as a possible fault is the way we can't really connect with the writer because they're not really given much of an identity. I mean, i guess that's because we're supposed to see them as being any writer and writer's block as a universal experience, but this is probably where i found it clichéd. I'd much rather have some kind of connection with either character.

Apart from these few points, the piece was overall good. You have a nice writing style and of course your description is lovely. The story flows quite well and i think it works in most places. Keep up the good writing!
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DailyBreadCafe Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2013   Writer
Hey there, i featured you here:
Ravenshymn Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2013   General Artist
Thank you!
DailyBreadCafe Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2013   Writer
No problem 
amrgalal7 Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Featured here :boogie:
Ravenshymn Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2013   General Artist
Thanks you!
amrgalal7 Featured By Owner Aug 15, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome :)
HisWeskerness Featured By Owner Aug 6, 2013
Hehe I saw a Gone with the Wind moment in there lol very good!
amrgalal7 Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
That was terrific :clap: :love:
splendidly written, and what a description!! :wow:
BailanduSilueta Featured By Owner Jul 7, 2013  Hobbyist Interface Designer
Wow, this piece really did make me smile. The descriptions of something as simple as a pen or a page, are stunning, giving it life in a new format and perhaps making it into something more beautiful than it really is. The piece itself has incredible description; that you could take such a long piece of writing to merely describe the musings, or lack of, of a writer is incredible. I can't even describe how gorgeous your descriptions are.. wow..
rokulie Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2013   Traditional Artist
Man, do I know that feeling!

This is beautifully written! Well done, and congrats!
WriterWithoutWords Featured By Owner Jul 1, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
This is absolutely BRILLIANT. I love your descriptions, they are so vivid and make me imagine it as I were there! I do not understand why this doesn't have more views ^^
And as a fellow writer, I have the same problem. :3
C-A-Harland Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2013  Student Writer
The descriptions you use are beautiful, so unique and vivid. I love that you left the writer completely ambiguous and up to the reader's interpretation and instead put all of the description into the muse. In a way she is the most real thing, and also the most ethereal thing, in the piece.
ObsessedNerdGirl Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Your description is just PHENOMENAL. The way you can make something as simply as a piece of paper, sound foreign, yet beautiful is just amazing. I especially adore how you describe the muse, she seems almost godly. When you speak of her dress, made of raven feathers and the night sky, just perfect. When you speak of her hair, caramelized strands of honey, just gorgeous. This piece just wraps together in the most perfect story, that seems to only take place in a mere few seconds, yet feels like a thousand year. Simply amazing.
UndiscoveredMuse Featured By Owner Jun 27, 2013  Student Writer
How does this not have a lot of views?! This is BRILLIANT! Your diction and description is minblowingly vivid. I feel so unaccomplished. You have done a splendid job with this piece. My money is on you to win. Bon chance!
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