The Writers Guild - I Can't Find The Right Words Chapter 4

Despite the success of his first novel, the new author finds himself sinking deeper into a frustrating bout of writer’s block. Frustration filled him as he struggled to put pen to paper, the words eluding him on his first draft. Suddenly, now trapped by a world that seemed to come to life straight from the pages of his book and memories of his past. What actions will he take from this point, and will he eventually make his way back home? 

Website-

https://www.limitlesscreativity.org/

Music credits-

Myuu

CO.AG

Transcript

As I sat up, I could feel my heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm, a reassurance that I was safe, at least for now. How could I have written a second book? Was I going crazy? Maybe this was all one big hallucination, with the world swirling in a kaleidoscope of colors and distorted sounds. But why these scenes, they held no real merit besides finding my passion for writing and cramming enough buzz for my novel?
Annoyed, I remained seated in the dark room, feeling the loneliness surround me. Something weird stood out. As I traced my fingers along the clothes I was wearing, I couldn’t help but notice their silky texture. As I moved my hands around, I felt a smooth silk tie snugly wrapped around my neck. What scene was this?
Rising to my feet, I winced at the sudden ache radiating from the tight dress shoes on the ground. As I walked through, I stumbled upon red curtains strewn across the ground, a jumble of technical equipment, and the soft glow of stage lights. As I stood backstage in the theater, the faint reverberation of people’s voices reached my ears. Maybe there was someway to see, but then again, what if it was that same crowd before? As my eyes trailed I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. A page?
Crowd in the distance
It read off chapter 3. That was odd, a few more pages were surrounding it. The words were a chaotic mess, scrambled and incomprehensible, making it difficult to decipher their meaning. Was this from the same book that I had written? Why was I the only one who couldn’t read it? But then again, I was in a place with no logic to itself. The combination of stress and aggravation made it feel like my mind was playing a cruel game, dangling a valuable idea just out of reach. This was a cruel way of teasing me. But to be honest, writing had always been a constant struggle, a back-and-forth. Even now, as a published author, the pressure and weight of it all paralyzed me. Did this place reflect how I perceived myself as a writer? Uncovering a fraud, the release of my one and only masterpiece made whole. Unveiling my true identity as a mediocre writer. Fuck, this place was getting to me. I picked up the remaining pages, feeling their crisp edges between my fingertips, and ventured deeper into the stage. Finally, I discovered an opening where red curtains adorned both sides, revealing a wooden stand with a microphone placed in the center. Were the pages leading me hear? It was dark, but visible enough for me to make out my surroundings. I walked up anxiously and looked at the stands. They laid vacant.
As I got behind the stand, my fingers brushed against a stack of papers near the microphone. What was this place trying to tell me? Something about the next book…something about my writing…something about myself. This was a riddle. I loathed riddles. This time, I had no choice. If I wanted to make it out, I had to solve it.
Okay, apart from the places I’ve already visited, it seems like all of them are destinations that cater to my writing interests. Not all of them seem significant like the High school but spots specifically tailored toward points of my writing, with some added points of the next novel I was going to write which was….. which was…. fuck I forgot the name. Wait, this made no sense. I’ve been trying to get this novel made for months and now I can’t remember it. Dammit, this was frustrating. Is that the reason for my presence here, to manipulate or inspire me somehow to write more? With a frustrated gesture, I forcefully tossed the pages onto the stand. No..no.. It has to be more than that, since they didn’t even bring up the sequel at the high school. Does it have something to do with my writing? Maybe by correcting how I write? Or why was I writing in the first place? As soon as those words left my lips, the stage light blinded me, forcing me to shield my eyes.
“Alright, I know you guys are ready to hear the latest story from the newest best-selling author Mr. Jake Anderson…I know I am”. Sarah Bellowed. Next to me stood my Agent Sarah, exuding professionalism in her casual black attire, complete with long sleeve buttons and a bold red lipstick. As I looked at the audience, the once empty seats were now packed with a sea of people. Men, women, and children alike, all donning their best clothes. Clad in black full face masks, their identities remained hidden. Covering all forms of expression, it was disturbing as all hell. In perfect synchronization, they erupted into applause, a cacophony of cheers blending together, making it impossible to distinguish whose voice belonged to whom.
“Okay, okay everyone, I’ll admit, I have dove into a few chapters and to be honest in my thirteen years of being an agent I have never seen writing like this, it’s truly astonishing how Jake can really place you into the mind of his characters.” Sarah continued.
As I look down, I see the book’s name printed on the cover, and a rush of memories washes over me - it’s the same name I had planned for my unwritten novel. How was I able to see the cover this time? Was I getting a better grasp of this place? For now, it doesn’t seem to matter. Sarah couldn’t contain her excitement over my well-written novel, waving her arms in astonishment.
Sarah is a brilliant agent, very honest and upfront about a lot of things that I would usually keep to myself. Her belief in my writing surpassed even my own, and without her, my first novel would still be stuck in development. Once again, she showered me with praise, although it didn’t belong to me, and the reality of it all seemed questionable.
Her grip on my shoulders tightened, and she leaned in to whisper, “You’re getting closer.” Confused, I paused for a minute and then turned to ask her what she meant, but of course, she had vanished. Again by myself, surrounded by the audience, their whispers filling the air, and carrying with me a nugget of truth.
I paused and stared at the crowd, noticing their rigid posture as they remained completely still. Shit, maybe this is when I read it? Would these people believe me if I said this wasn’t mine? No.. No, I should play along with this for a bit to see what comes next. “Serenity is my second book and I am happy to read it to you today.” My voice echoed through the ceiling. The crowd was patiently waiting and my anxiety was crawling through my skin. Come on, I just needed a glimpse of what I had written, hoping it would provide some clarity. Its cover was entirely black, contrasting beautifully with the ornate gold designs that adorned its spine. But after opening the book, chapter 1 only had one word. (The) that was the only word that I had found. Page after page, my fingers skimmed over the blankness, leaving behind a feeling of frustration. As I looked up at the audience, the blank expressions of the masks matched their lifeless bodies, all directed towards me.
The pressure pressed down on me. My breathing was erratic. “Um, one moment still trying to figure out which chapter to start off with…. he hehe…each one is so dramatic, um, got to make sure you don’t get lost in this book.” My comment was met with a dead response, it didn’t matter at this point. These people didn’t come to hear a stumbling idiot, they came to listen to another bestselling horror thriller. With a sense of desperation, I closed the book and reopened it, but no matter how many times I tried, the words remained elusive.
Have to say something, need to say something, maybe a repeat of the past events, like I did at the high school. Over there, it seemed to work, but not the way that I had envisioned. After taking a deep breath, I started reading it from the beginning, determined to give them something worthwhile.
“Serenity Chapter 1 The….”
Large amounts of clapping and cheering
A puzzled expression crossed my face once more, attempting to make sense of it. The sounds of cheers and admiration echoed around me, filling the air. How it was better than the first book, how the title was so unique, how beautifully I placed the word (The) at.
“No..no… I didn’t start yet. All I said was one word.” I said.
“Wow, this is already an improvement compared to the first book. This man is an absolute genius. 10 out of 10 for me, a must buy.”
Once again, they were mocking me, their laughter echoing in my ears, as they praised every single word I had written in this book. This was disgusting. This was not what I wanted. As a writer, I always felt insecure, constantly yearning for my work to be as profound and distinctive as that of other authors. However, it was disconcerting to be adored effortlessly, without even exerting any effort. What was the point of writing?
“Shut the hell up, everyone. I’m done with this crap.” I barked.
“This isn’t even a book anymore. Now you’ve become mindless slaves.” I continued.
Saliva spewed uncontrollably from my mouth while the veins on my neck pulsated with intensity. But their cheers were growing in volume, trying to drown out my frustration. I wouldn’t let it.
In a continuous motion, the crowd and I moved back and forth, creating a sense of chaos and energy. Swear words were being thrown around so frequently that I heard new ones from my mouth that I didn’t even know existed. Again, they would consider me to Stephen king and Dean Koontz with no logic behind those words.
Amid that complete debacle, I could feel the building trembling with small vibrations. The more the crowd clapped and cheered, the stronger the vibrations beneath my feet became, but in my rage, I hadn’t even noticed. Enough playing. I trampled through the back of the stage. The noise of a mob of people echoed behind me as I continued on. No…not this again. I strained my eyes to find any hint of an exit or door, but the darkness of the room made it nearly impossible to distinguish anything. Frustrated, I sought refuge under a stack of crates near the beams of spotlights.
Heavy Footsteps 
As I covered my mouth, the sound of footsteps echoed in my ears, growing fainter as they walked past. They remained silent, their breaths heavy, resembling the revving of a car engine, as if they were inseparable from their face masks. Slithering through the end of the stage. I made it back to the center. The seats were completely empty, and it was dead quiet. I looked around the area, feeling completely bewildered. Then went further back into the audience area and turned left. As I walked by, a neon sign flickered and buzzed, demanding my attention.
The translucent red glow of the book signings added an enchanting ambiance to the theatre.
Interesting. Guess this is where I need to head next. As I opened the door and stepped through, a surreal scene that seemed straight out of a dream greeted me.