A light-colored wooden table lays before me, holding blank paper. Usually it holds food and water for me and my siblings, but now it’s all to myself. I draw a nightmare scene, a malevolent figure casts doubt and threatens the hero. Next, the hero, a teenage orphan, wakes up in a cold sweat and later goes to school with his brother and sister. It doesn't take long for my brother and sister to come to the table, though, and they kill the mood.
As productive as this is, this WILL lead to a dead end.
I'm by myself with a book on my lap. It's the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, which I would read constantly if I didn't take a break from reading. At all times while I read, I'm either thinking, "AGH! This part is SO SLOW! J. R. R. Tolkien should have put some action in here god knows how long ago!" or, "For an expert in skill, character sure seems like a bumbling buffoon! Leoglas is the ONLY sensible person, but that's not enough!" When I'm done reading, I plan on how the trilogy would go if there was a free-lance trio helping the Fellowship in secret and think, "They would at least prevent stupid errors!"
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