Words and a bad Poem

Edit ONE

I look around the room I'm the only one using pen and paper, a tatty Biro to boot. The others tip- tapping away on their computers. If I'd bought my gigantic antique PC it would have taken up the entire table. The more I think about being a writer the more I realise the world is full of would be writers. One has just had her book publish on Amazon. I clap cautiously still not sure about self-publishing. I worry about lack of talent. One has a novel sent off to agents. She's excitedly waiting for replies. I want her to succeed because rejection however nicely written is a slap in your creative face. Another is writing a play I want to shake his hand and say well done for not wanting to write a novel like the rest are planning to do. When its my turn to say what I'm doing I say Flash Fiction. I like to write 500 words or less. Not sure if that genre appeals to me because of the lack of words. I murmur that I have written a few chapters of a novel, well I have but I'm don't think I'll ever finish it! It has no plot, it seems to be writing itself without any direction from me. Maybe I should chat to the playwright to get tips on direction.

Everyone is tip-tapping away. I am feeling the cold. Tip do not sit by a window in an old building. It's draughty and very cold. I'm wondering whether to put my jacket back on but then I won't feel the benefit of it when I leave. (I sound like my mum) Will I last another five hours probably not. Once lunch is over I might be off shopping in the city centre. 500 words forgotten for another day. I've paid good money to sit in a draughty room and write. No workshop, no tips on getting my mo-jo back . To be fair it was billed for procrastinators and I am writing so yes its achieved its aim.

Edit TWO

I'm planning my escape
What shall I say.
I've run out of words
My hand hurts.
I care no more
For any of you.
Write your stories
Novels and plays.
Be famous, be literary
But leave me out.
Or include me in your words
As the writer that ran away.