Nighting GalesShe stared silently at the computer screen; glasses glazed with a thin coat of fog from watching the blinking margin as though it would begin to move along the colum on its own creating the letters. Letters and words that could compose and express a symphony of the personal feelings she so despiratly wanted to find. But she knew that was a dream, a sad little dream for uninspired artists of the general sense and she gave a groan of frustration. How long had this been going on, how long had this ruthless cycle been going on? She'd find inspiration in watching something completely meaningless to what she was writing on television and it felt great. Her writing was smooth and clever but then it'd stop and she'd have nothing left to go on, she'd stare at the screen and know that revisions had to be made. That's how it always was though, wasn't it? Write down the first bursts of inspiration, check for a hole to latch the next segment on if there's no hole go back and revise, if characters'