Writer's block

13 September 2017

I can't write anymore.

Over the last ten years, I have enjoyed wealth and fame as a famous writer. My book 'Teeth' published ten years ago, made me known throughout England. I wrote my next book in four years. I worked slowly and carefully. I created many characters in this book. I kept pages of notes on each of them. I read what I wrote over and over again to make sure no detail contradicted me.

I knew this book contained my best ideas. In almost all chapters, I had passionate dialogues that would draw the reader in.

The result exceeded my expectations. Book sales exploded around the world. After the unexpected success, I participated in many television programs in England and Europe. I received many awards. My book was even made into a low-budget movie for television in America.

But so far. I haven't written a word for the last six years. People think I'm working for greater success. In reality, I spend time in the gym in the mornings, and if I cannot join friends at night, I stare blankly at the TV. Little by little, television shows removed me from their guest lists. Publishing houses no longer call for book signings or shows. There is a significant drop in fan emails. I even lost the interest of the snob who wrote in his newspaper column about what a talentless writer I was. One night, after leaving a club, he grimaced in response to a question asked about me by journalists, as if he had more important problems, and did not answer the question.

Only my manager, who is my best friend, knows that I can't write anymore. Today he came to me with a crazy offer.

He started speaking in a troubled manner. "The famous Russian circus "Stravra" will stay in England for a week," he said. "Yes," I said, not interested, "it's in the newspapers." There was silence again. He looked like he couldn't decide what to say. "Psychic Rasputin is also in this show," he said. I've heard of this so-called Rasputin. He was a skinny man with a thirty-centimeter beard and crazy eyes. In my eyes, he was no different than any other idiot who claimed to have Psychic powers. He must have thought my silence was beneficial because he continued his speech. "For ten thousand dollars, he claims to solve people's problems that no one else can solve," he said.

There was silence again. It was obvious what was implied by this ridiculous sentence. "This is how these fraudsters get rich," I said finally.

He didn't like my answer. He quickly grabbed my arm. "You have money, ten thousand dollars is nothing to you, but not being able to write is destroying you, if you agree, I have arranged for you to meet tomorrow evening at seven in an office. Please try it, just for my sake." said.

What can I say, I could even make a deal with the devil to write again.

September 14, 2017

The whole day was stressful with the weight of this strange appointment. I repeated the same exercises over and over in the gym. I came home at three o'clock. I had a shower. I wore a suit like when I had to work every day for money. I was ready to meet my manager at six o'clock. We got out of the car in front of a plaza, whose name had just been involved in a scandal. When I saw an old Russian car with a Moscow license plate in the parking lot, I realized that our friend was running to get his money.

My manager and I didn't talk at all in the elevator or the whole way. When he arrived in front of the office, he suddenly accelerated as if I was a very important man and opened the door for me to enter. Mr. Rasputin, in Russian peasant clothes, with his braided hair and his famous beard, stood motionless, sitting on a chair behind the table in the middle of the empty room and looking at a fixed point.

I was flattered that he dressed so shabby for our meeting!! A big Russian guy in a suit was standing next to him. My manager introduced them to me by saying "Mr. Rasputin and his translator". Of course, no introduction was made for me because they knew the idiot as part of their profession.

On the table were four bottles of liquids of different colors and a closed briefcase. I sat in the empty chair on our side of the table. I promised myself not to talk to this fraudster. So I turned and looked at my manager who was standing.

When the silence continued, my manager said, "Mr. Rasputin only talks to his customers and always with eye contact." said. Helplessly, I made eye contact with the crazy person in front of me. His eyes looked so piercing that I was surprised for a moment. Instead of saying I can't write anymore, I said I can't create anymore. As soon as the translator translated my words, the impostor was visibly surprised. First, he narrowed his eyes. Then he broke eye contact and looked at his translator next to him. When I explained that I was a writer, he nodded his head in understanding but looked at me with narrowed and suspicious eyes throughout the entire conversation. Finally, when the speech was over, Rasputin stood up without saying anything. He started collecting the bottles on the table. He said something in Russian to his translator. The translator said, "Mr. Rasputin does not want your money."

The show had started. Our role was to persist and be a good idiot. This way we could lose up to twice as much money to fraudsters. I cut the matter short. "I'll give twenty thousand for the solution,". Rasputin said something. The translator did not translate. This time he got angry and shouted the same things. He appeared to be pressuring the translator to translate inappropriate things he said.

It was a truly impressive stage show. Finally, the translator said, "Mr. Rasputin says you are a madman." said. "He thinks you're dangerous and doesn't want to work with you."

An outside observer would immediately know who the crazy person was between the two of us, but I didn't answer. I had money and I loved being a part of this beautiful show. "I'll give you twenty-five thousand," I said. When my words were translated, Rasputin became angry again and started repeating short sentences shouting. The translator also allegedly got angry and they started shouting at each other. Now I was angry too. If he thought I would give thirty thousand, he wasn't acting, he was really crazy. I didn't want him to tell his grandchildren about me by saying, "I saw a lot of idiots, but the one in Englan was worse than all of them." I sulked silently at the table.

Finally, the big translator supposedly shook Rasputin's arm and said, "Mr. Rasputin accepts your offer." said.

Rasputin quickly put the colored bottles into his bag. Then he took a black bottle out of the bag and gave it to me without looking at me. He closed his bag and took it from the table. He stood up. I realized that we were going to break up. When I extended my hand to shake his hand out of courtesy, he jumped back as if he saw a devil. He walked away from me, swearing in Russian (there was no need to translate, it was obvious that he didn't say see you), and after his translator talked to my manager about financial matters, they left the room together.

I looked at my manager. "If you tell even one person about what happened today, I will make you pay." I joked. He seemed to be affected by the imposter's words, and finally said, "Yes, it was a bad experience. I hope the medicine he gave you will help you." "Is this?" I said, pointing to the black bottle. "This must just be dyed water. I'm sure he is smart enough not to give anyone a dangerous substance. However, can you analyze it tomorrow? If it's poisonous, you can throw it in the trash." I said and gave the bottle to his hand.

September 15, 2017

There's nothing like starting the day with a good sleep. After quickly completing my morning exercise, I created a short shopping list. After watching some TV and taking a shower, I went down to the garage. The supermarket was half an hour away, I reached the supermarket by turning the radio on full blast, just like when I'm cheerful, and speeding on the empty road.

While I was inside looking at toothpaste, my phone rang. My manager was calling. I guessed right. The black bottle contained only colored water. At least it has been proven that it is not harmful to health. I told him to stop by in the evening and bring the bottle.

In the evening, after watching the football match together and drinking our beers, he left at an early hour. So, after watching the comments on TV until late, I drank my dyed water and went to bed.

September 16, 2017

I had a strange dream at night.

In my dream, I was in front of one of the Saloons in Western movies. Music and laughter were coming from inside. Some of the cheerful people greeted me at the door as I walked in. The joy must have been contagious because I greeted them in the same manner. Laughing with joy, I sat at a table where three people were laughing and chatting instead of playing cards. All three of them were considered fat, but the one who talked the most was heavier than the other two at the table combined.

"Let me tell you a funny story," he said as he sat on the small chair. He told a tremendously funny story about a stupid Chinese man trying to escape from monsters. I fell out of my chair laughing twice while listening. The Chinese guy tried to hide almost everywhere in the town, but the monsters had located him. He locked all the doors in his hiding place, but when he realized that this was not enough...

He couldn't tell the rest because he was laughing. He finally managed to explain that he jumped from the third-floor window. The whole table and even those who witnessed the conversation next to us were laughing like crazy.

I think I woke up laughing. I felt incredibly energetic. I quickly did my morning exercise. Strangely, I remembered all the details told by the fat man in my dream. I immediately turned on my computer and quickly typed out what he explained, word by word.

It was very strange. Because there was nothing funny about it while writing it. He described very clearly the horror the poor man was going through. I didn't even need to work on details that would make the reader jump. The fat man explained all the chilling details with great skill. I wrote the details for hours.

I'm so glad I can finally write. Still, it bothers me that all the details are so clear.

No wonder the fat man is talented. In the end, everyone in our dreams is ourselves.

January 12, 2021

I started journaling again. I haven't told anyone what I've been through in the last four years, except for my manager J., with whom I've been seeing less and less. The water in the black bottle remained surprisingly effective. I quickly wrote new stories, and since the events and characters were now fixed in my brain, I stopped taking notes and creating drafts. The time between starting and finishing a story has decreased from months to days. The success of my new stories led to me being invited back to television shows, a social life full of fan mail, and regaining my self-confidence. When the water reached half of the bottle, I experimented by reducing the amount I drank. When I realized that even a single drop was enough, I even reached that comfort that is reserved for people who secure their retirement. I was so stupid that I wholeheartedly believed that everything was just for my happiness.

The first year everything seemed fine. In my dream, I was drinking water from a black bottle, listening to scary but funny stories from my fat friend in the town of cheerful people, falling off the chair laughing, punching the table, and having a better time than I had outside. Looking back now, I wonder if I would have had joyful moments in this hall for the rest of my life if I had not drunk from the black bottle so often. I will never know the answer to this question, the frequency of drinking water increased over time. Towards the end of the first year, I started hearing strange sounds such as wheezing while walking to the saloon. When I first heard the voices, I didn't pay attention to them; they were coming from afar and I only had ten steps ahead of me to reach my cheerful friends. Later, I would learn by experience how long these ten steps were.

In the second year, I noticed that the number of people in the hall began to decrease and some of them were not so cheerful anymore. I noticed suspicion in the way the people inside looked at me, but my friends were in good spirits.

I started seeing wolves early in my third year. They were growling, looking from a distance. They reminded me that I was a stranger to this land. The presence of the wolves made the atmosphere inside tense. Sometimes I felt like even my friends at the table thought it was strange that I came so much. What made me cut back on my visits was the approach of the wolves. They were so big and wild, that I ran into the living room and couldn't concentrate on the story throughout the night. In the morning, I promised myself that I would never use the bottle again, and I kept my promise for six months. But as I tossed and turned in bed at night, the bottle was talking to me throughout the night. He was calling me in a language I didn't know. Although I missed the stories and laughter of my friends, the fear of the wolves made me resist the call. During this time, I drew sketches and made calculations. I thought for hours about how I could take these ten steps, get in, and close the door before they reached me. But the scary faces of these monsters kept me from using the bottle.

Until one day I gathered all my courage. 10 steps wasn't as difficult as I thought. I reached the door in the time it took for the wolves to detect my presence and make a move. They could not even get close to the stairs when I closed the door. There was a more cheerful crowd inside than before. My long absence seemed to affect my friends. I joyfully listened to the story of a confused stranger running away from monsters (or did he say wolves?). This time the stranger was a marathon runner. Thanks to his ability, he managed to adjust his speed and run away from the wolves (this word disturbed me even in a dream) as far as anyone could. One of the fat men said, "I remember they smashed him to pieces by the opposite pole." said. How could one remember a fictional story?

​We looked at each other for about two seconds, then continued laughing again. Someone from the back table said "That wasn't the one over there at the pole, we smashed it in the square." he began. He looked like he was drunk. Still, I was disturbed by these words and his presence. I tried not to look that way all night. I listened to my story, frequently interrupted by jokes, until the end.

January 26, 2024

I couldn't stop myself drinking the black water. God knows, I tried. But the power of the black water is so much greater than my will. Every time I drink the black water, the wolves get a little closer.

Yesterday a wolf caught my foot and bit it, I woke up in pain. There is no physical wound or bruise on my foot, but I still couldn't step on my bitten foot all day.

I will drink black water again tonight, there is no use in resisting, I will do my best not to drink it, but it will win again and this time the wolves will tear me to pieces.

So what will happen when the wolves tear me to pieces, will I die in real life, the answer to this question is both yes and no. I'm guessing. I will wake up again in the morning and get out of bed again but as a changed, worse, and darker person.

Tic toc tic toc time is running out, it's almost evening, and I'm writing this diary as myself for the last time, I don't know if I will be able to wake up tomorrow morning to look at this diary, or if someone will wake up in my body, all I know is the sound of laughter coming from the living room, on the TV. A comedian laughs his head off, but nothing is funny.