Troubles in writing
The man at the table was looking out of the window, blue skies, some clouds, and two or three birds were out there above the boring brown and silver roofs of the adjacent villas. On the table lay forgotten a piece of paper that had a title on it and nothing else, the writing could have been his, but at this point that was uncertain, anyone could have written those words on it. He had a pen in his hand but that still was inconclusive proof that he was the author of the words on the paper, now his facial expression of profound apathy that betrayed an ache for something abstract like having a life dedicated to beauty or art, that was it. What he was trying to write on that paper nobody but him knew, and in his mind the page was the start of a self-help book of humongous proportions, a book that would flood the self-help section of any library with a body of text so vast in its offer of advice that it would render the existence of the other books meaningless. Bigger than Infinite Jest, thicker than 300 blocks of concrete cemented to one another, more prolific than the discoveries in physics of Newton and Einstein together, and heavier than the biggest know star in the observable universe. But he hit a wall, after all such a huge project was way above his head, this was dreaming big taken to an absurd scale, and he didn’t get stuck in the middle, mind you, no, the beginning was his problem, and that discouraged him more than anything. He tried to write everything that his mind could come up with, but that did not fit the mold that he had mentally prepared for the opening part of this project . And now he was doing anything to distract himself from his tragedy, and when i say tragedy dear reader i am not overly dramatizing the case, after all despite not knowing how to begin the book, he had all the 15 000 life hacks done and remembered, only a little paragraph was keeping his dream away. A fly was flying around , a bug lurking on the floor looking for breadcrumbs, a parrot chirping from another room, the fridge buzzing from somewhere, the white noise of a broken TV-set reflecting from every surface in the room. The clock made noises, dogs barked outside, cats meowed near dumpsters , engines rattled on the streets, every detail touched him but didn’t reverberate inside, where all was occupied by the search for a perfect introduction. Then he just wrote : “ This the best book ever if you don’t believe me just read it” and what followed were 15 000 life advice, and the last of them was don’t listen to the advice of others.