‘So there I was trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The small of my back felt the bump of his erection. It was a curious and peculiar thing how we ended up the way we did.
This 6’4″ inch giant wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. And believe me the feel of that bump triggered nothing short of a gag reflex ..’
Now that we’ve been properly introduced, let’s turn to the real issue here.
The one I simply have to come to terms with.
This pesky little obstacle that stands between me and my Great Gatsby.
This peculiar and strange affliction that ruins all the endings of the stories in my head and destroys any chances of my epic novel ever coming to be.
Yes it true — I’m a story choker
There I’ve said it out aloud.
Don’t come to me for happy endings.
No happily ever afters here – sorry
All you’ll find here are stories struggling to breathe and finally giving up.
Stories that have lived unnaturally short and incomplete lives.
Their inevitable ending at the choker’s hands, is probably compounded by a serious case of lack-of-imaginitis
If there’s one thing I am dead certain of, it is the choker’s ability to kill everyone of my stories mid-sentence.
The choker is impartial and benevolent. No story is left untouched
Not even the ones that show potential as I type furiously at the first few paragraphs, thinking this will be the day that I will break the choker’s curse
I realize, that once again the choker has filled me with a false sense of security, only to pull the paper from under my pen and kill yet another story in the prime of its life.