Introducing Miller Brooks
I am seated in the writers chair. A familiar and comfortable place though the machinery is not working. That is my mind. It has decided to falter at the first hurdle.
I am seated rocking leisurely in my chair, my mind drifting, reflecting on nothing in particular only allowing myself the comfort of nothingness.
My compulsions have discontinued, like a factory press after hours the once vibrant machinery is dormant.
There is comfort, though I cannot allow myself this acceptance of idleness.
I absorb myself deeper, retreating into fantasy. It is at this point where stripped to the bare bones I begin to write. The words flow from my fingers like raindrops falling from the sky. There is no distinct thought process or planning, the words simply flow continually without hesitancy or interruption until the story is complete.
I raise my head and my eyeballs loll to the back of my head.
I call the story ‘Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining’.
I raise from my seat and lurch forward to the bathroom. Rinsing my face in the cold water I stare blankly at the reflected face. This person doesn’t seem like me at all.
My name is Miller Brooks and I am a writer.