A Reason (For not leaving the house)

Quite a number of times (Namely when I'm sat unmotivated in my dim hovel of an office) I find myself yearning for the creative juices that lay dormant and tormenting in my veins to flow. I ask myself - what do I have to do for inspiration? I read books, listen to music, watch films, all sorts of supposedly enriching activities, and yet still my hands float poised above the keyboard, half-written novel looking at me like an unfed dog on screen, and my mind sits stiller than frozen pond-water.

Yet there is always one thing that I beg myself to do in the hope that it will provoke some untouched nerve of creativity that I am yet to discover. I am speaking of course, of the final frontier for any and all cupboard dwellers - going outside.

So after much deliberation and hesitant opening and swift closure of the blackout blinds I finally find myself here (Admittedly against my own will and due to the sadistic requests of my P.E. teacher) with the sun blinding me, black school jumper making me sweat like a Nike manufacturer, and the occasional 'thrill' of having a ball kicked at my non-participating and therefore lazy head. In short, I have less creativity than Mick Jagger has blood in his arthritic little arms.

-Lewis

(Extract from my rambling book)