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Writer's Block
Writer's Block
Writer's Block
Ebook28 pages24 minutes

Writer's Block

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It’s something every writer fears and many face: the dreaded writer's block. But sometimes the cause is not lack of inspiration, but something much more sinister...

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 12, 2014
ISBN9781311364562
Writer's Block
Author

Mark Campbell

MARK CAMPBELL has written for various publications, including Midweek, Girl About Town, The Bookseller, The Independent, The Dark Side and Infinity; he was one of the main contributors to the exhaustive two-volume encyclopaedia British Crime Writing in 2009. He has written Pocket Essentials about Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie and Carry On Films. He was theatre critic for The Kentish Times for eight years. He lives near the river in Crayford, Kent and still hasn’t got around to watching all those box sets.

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    Book preview

    Writer's Block - Mark Campbell

    Writer’s Block

    By

    Mark Campbell

    Writer’s Block

    Copyright 2013 Mark Campbell

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

    "Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape."

    I couldn’t remember where I had read that quote, though I knew it was from William S. Burroughs. Even still, the words seemed to hang in the air around me, reminding me of why I was here, standing on an aged sidewalk riddled with tufts of grass and weeds growing unabated through the cracks in the uneven concrete slabs.

    It was a lonely little side street, somehow feeling like it was in its own little world, rather than just being tucked away in a forgotten part of town. I could still hear the buzz of traffic and other random city noises, but they seemed muffled, as if from a great distance. The feeling of isolation was compounded by the fact that I didn’t see another living soul. The neighborhood felt abandoned. There were no sounds of kids playing or people talking—not even a dog barking. There were no cars either, the narrow, pot-holed street empty before seemingly vacant buildings.

    The tiny shop before me barely seemed occupied either, its white-washed wood siding rough with peeling paint. The six-paneled front door—its paint faded and wood splintered—looked tired and thin, like an aged guardsman too long at his post. The dull pink coloring might once have been a cheerful red, but years of rain, wind, and neglect had worn down the door along with the rest of the façade. The windows

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