Writer's Block

You walk around with the character you've created, in him, as him.  You see the world through his eyes.  You drive to work, order food, drink coffee, listen to music, look at porn as him.  And you slowly start to realize, that no matter how successful the book is, how lucrative the movie deal, how much money you make, you won't ever get to actually sleep with him.  You can create him, you can bring him to life, you can share him with the world.  You will know everything about him, his deepest fears, his biggest secrets, his strengths and his weaknesses.  You will fall in love with him.  But he will never love you back, because he doesn't exist.  Because he's you.  And you don't want to sleep with you.  You fucking hate yourself.  That's how the whole thing got started in the first place. No matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you work, no matter how many producers you know, the best you're ever going to get is a chance to look at his picture.  The picture you painted yourself.  But you know what?  It's a hell of a nice picture.