The previous night had moved a little faster than I would have preferred but time does tend to fly right by when you're writing your ass off. By the time the sun started to rise this morning I had written a few thousand words, and all thanks to an inspiring dinner as well as the energy drinks I had chugged down. When the words come out of your fingers flowing like a river, it can sometimes feel like your flying, and you never want that night to end. Yet like all good things in life, nothing lasts forever. Hence the reason why I chugged down those drinks. I didn't want sleep to get in the way of good momentum, even more rare than that, writing fueled by genuine inspiration. I know some writers that like to sniff a bit of coke to stay awake when they're on a tear, but that shit does more damage than good so I pass on it. I just take few cans of a highly caffeinated drink and that's enough for me typing deep into the good night. I also like to snack when I'm writing as well, so I always hit a bulk barn for some trail mix and chocolate covered raisins. Sometimes I get peanuts or cashews, but I didn't want to risk exposing anyone who might have a nut allergy this weekend. I was content with what I had and in the end I had a really good writing session last night. Yet like I said before; nothing lasts forever.

Today, however, was the exact opposite of what I had going on the previous night. Whatever momentum that was present last night had vanished like a fart in the wind. I sat there in the kitchen, staring at my laptop as I was unable to produce a single word, let alone a sentence. These are the days I wish that I was an ostrich so that I could just stick my fucking head in the sand and hide from the world. I closed the laptop and groaned in frustration. For a second I was glad that everyone else wasn't there because I tend to get grumpy whenever I struggled to write. There's a tense uneasiness that just itches my brain. A sliver in your mind that can't be pulled. I get very annoying when I'm like this so sometimes it's best to be alone when it happens.

Yet I tried my best not to be so negative. The new book that recently released was selling faster than anything I had ever written. Major studios often get hard when the see a book sell that good, and got into a bid of a bidding war. The writer always wins whenever that happens. Not only do we get more money, we can make obscene demands that they have to accept just to get a let up, like a vote in casting decisions and other forms of creative control. I'm not the kind of guy who wanted to abuse such power, as I was the kind of writer who liked to be more of a silent partner when it came to movies. As long as the cheque clears, I'm usually okay with whatever the studio decides to fucking do.

I poured a shot of vodka from the liquor cabinet and drained it down. It took a bit of the edge off but I was still no closer to writing than I was before. I walked back into the kitchen and decided to raid the fridge. I made a killer sandwich for lunch, but was thinking supper could be leftovers from the previous night. I grabbed some food to nibble on, hoping it and the alcohol might induce some creativity.

It didn't work.

I was pacing around in the living room of the cabin when my cell phone started to ring. I was surprised it was working again, but answered the call none the less. It was my agent calling in with an update on film rights.

"Good news I hope," I started, eager to talk to anyone and forget about the struggles.

"It appears we have a winner," Eddie started, "All of the studios were matching each other in terms of money, but only one was willing to accepts your additional terms. So you're going to get money and a say in what direction they take with early production and casting."

"Sounds good," I said, grinning like an idiot. "Let them know that I'm not going to be a tyrant. I want this film to do well and will work hard to make sure we all make a lot from it."

"I'm sure they'll be happy to hear that," Eddie said, sounding relieved himself.

"Well, I supposed congrats are in order," I continued, "Great work, Eddie."

"Thank you," Eddie said, as I could picture him taking a bow while saying that.

Yet as I turned around, I suddenly noticed there was another person in the room. There was a woman with blonde hair and a blue coat staring right at me. I looked at her for a moment and could tell that she was scared, as she had that deer in the headlights look on her face.

"Eddie," I said into the cell, "I'm going have to let you go. Thanks again for the great work."

As I disconnected the line, I never took my eyes off the young woman that was on the other side of the living room, about ten feet away from me. She was younger than me by at least five years which put her in her early thirties, and she wasn't wearing makeup which gave me the impression she was there not on business but for casual acquaintances.

"Hey there," I finally said, breaking the silence. "Can I help you?"

"Who the hell are you?" She quickly asked, "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm a guest," I quickly answered, "The owner invited me up here for the weekend."

I waited for any indication to see if she believed my story, and that came moments later when she pulled taser out of the pocket of her coat. That led me to believe that she didn't believe what I had said, and thought ill of my presence in the cabin.

"I don't believe you!" She called out.

"I guess not," I said hoping my hands up, trying to show here I wasn't a threat. "Lady, who are you and what are you doing here?"

"What?" She asked.

"I know who owns this place," I answered, "And it's not you. So what business do you have being here?"

"That's none of your business!" she cried out. It was clear that topic was sensitive so it seemed best to avoid that one for the time being.

"You're probably right," I said, trying to take her side. "It's probably none of my bee's wax. I can dig that. How about you put that down and I'll explain myself and assure you that I'm not a thief or a robber."

It was at this point where I made a terrible mistake. I took a step to the left, which was misinterpreted by the young woman as a step forward, and that was all the reason she needed to zap my sorry ass. She pulled the trigger on the taser and those two little wires flew across the room as the two probes attached to the wires attached themselves to the shirt I was wearing underneath my open robe just seconds before I got the shock of my life. My body began to painfully spasm as the electrical currents came through the wires and immediately lost consciousness. All I could hear was the young woman call out how sorry she was as I fell to the floor. Fuck me...