The day dawned cold and dull.

No, that wasn’t right. Vida scribbled it out and tried again.

The last pinpricks of light faded into the…the…milky sunrise of…

She heaved an exasperated sigh and slashed through the line with her pen. She pushed herself away from the desk with a screeching of her chair and made her way over to a haphazard stack of notebooks. All of her most recent writing. Picking up the first, she flipped through the pages, scanning them. She put it aside quickly and picked up the next, doing the same, and the next. No, no, no. It was all crap, all of it. Months since any decent writing.
Vida leaned against the table and gritted her teeth. She screamed, and shoved the notebooks off the table, spilling to the floor like old newspapers. Seething, she looked out the window. It all looked flat and dull now. Cardboard words for her cardboard world.

That for which we find words is something already dead in our hearts.

If that were the case, she should have been able to write volumes.