K: Feelie! There you are!
Ophelia: How many times must I tell you that I detest that horrid nickname?
K: Ophelia, then.
Ophelia: What now?
K: Why did you bugger off on me? Right now, I could really benefit from some writing mojo. Everything else went to pot, so it would be really fucking nice if I could at least salvage writing from the wreckage that is currently my life.
Ophelia: *raised eyebrow*
K: What are you looking at me like that for?
Ophelia: You know full-well that my presence is only one determining factor in whether or not you write, K.
K: But it is still a factor.
Ophelia: Yes, but as you so eloquently pointed out, nothing else has been functioning as it should. When your health, academics, sleep, and relationships are not in order, it compromises your ability to write, and to write well.
Ophelia: Don’t call me “Feelie”. And stop whining. Your biggest issue right now is that your tank is empty, not how often I’ve been here to inspire you—because if you think about it, you ought to remember that I have dropped in on you a few times in recent months.
K: *confused-puppy-head-tilt* My tank is empty?
Ophelia: You are a cyclical creature, because you do not divide your attention. You set your focus on one thing at a time, and push towards that singular goal with the entirety of your will. You simply have not read enough to be able to write at present.
K: What are you on about? I read!
Ophelia: *sigh* It’s not a criticism. Words, stories sustain you. If you have not taken enough of them in, you do not have the drive to write your own, nor do you have the undivided attention such efforts require. Bear in mind that you used to read a novel a day or more in high school, that you spend the first month of every summer vacation reading voraciously. You have not read an entire novel in a single sitting for quite some time.
K: So, what you’re telling me is to run along, read my books, and leave you alone for a while?
Ophelia: . . . in a nutshell.
K: But you won’t forget me, right? You promise you’ll come back?
Ophelia: You know perfectly well that you wouldn’t let me do anything else.
K: That’s not really an answer.
Ophelia: Yes, I promise. Your proliferation of written works ought to assure you that I frequently grace you with my presence, but since you delight in irritating me and desire unnecessary reassurance—yes, I promise I will come back. Satisfied?
K: There’s no need to be peevish.
Ophelia: Fucking writers *disappears*
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.