Struggling Author

The Life and Times of a Struggling Author

“In the sunny village of Alexandria, there lived a happy family of four. The wife and husband had a strong, tenacious bond and had pledged a never-ending fidelity to each other. They deeply loved each other and their children and vowed to give them a wonderful childhood.” “One unfortunate day, the youngest fell dangerously ill. The mother and father were distraught and knew the only way to save the child was to visit a healer-witch rumored to be living in the woods. The father took the youngest while the mother and the elder sister stayed at home, fervently praying for their safe return. The brave father hiked along a rough mount path carrying his daughter with as many provisions as they could afford to pack, although the status quo for people like them—”
What the heck is the cat doing in here? He's scratching all of my stuff. “Get out, you no-good vermin, with your… infinitesimal brain of a deranged worm.” Gah, look at the time. I should get back to work. Oh, and now the window is open. Ughhh. Why does this stuff happen to me? “C’mon, Gerald, pull yourself together,” I murmur to myself. Okay, what's next? Hmmm… This writing thing is hard. Anyway: “—although the status quo for people like them at the time wasn’t the best. However, it was a dire emergency. The father was determined to revitalize his child. “The father trekked wearily through the path when suddenly he saw strange, contorted shapes spurting from the ground. ZOMBIES!!!!! AH!!!!! IT’S A HORRIBLE PANDEMIC!!!!” Agh, backspace backspace backspace… why did I write that? This is such an awful anachronism. It’s like some intangible bad-writing-ideas ghost is trying to haunt me. Maybe those five cans of Red Bull are getting to my head. Alright, moving