This is one of the best stories I’ve written this month (in my opinion), during my NaNo flash fiction challenge:
I’ve run out of ideas.
It’s embarrassing to admit that. More importantly, it’s dangerous. Once upon a time, or so I’ve heard, our country respected artists. They thought we were special and that creativity was a gift bestowed to only a chosen few. Back then you could claim to have something called “writer’s block” and people felt sorry for you.
These days, artists are expected to produce. We have schedules and deadlines and supervisors who stand over our shoulders, reviewing our work and telling us immediately if we need to be more creative, more original, or more thought-provoking.
If you’re lucky, you write well enough to win a semi-private desk in the corner of one of the large grey work rooms. If you’re really lucky, they might let you go outside for 45 minutes once a week.