Terrance sat quietly on his bed, scribbling on a notepad aimlessly. He stared and stared at the page with no words. He was out of ideas, and thought this absurd. It was his time to have this, you see, the dreadful curse of a writing disease. Writers block, the illness that strikes fear in the hearts of many authors around the world. Ideas that once poured from inside his brain drained out most boring and lame. "The night was dark n' stuff... No, that won't work." He grumbled. That really sucks. Thought Nanook, who laid beside his master on the bed. Terry was nearly half insane by this point, and growled in frustration. "I hate writers block.." He huffed.
