Picture: a battered, bedraggled author, armored in laminated sheets of scrap paper, stabbity crystal black-ink pen in one hand, mocha mug gripped in the other.
Pan out to a wide and smoky plain, where scraps of scene lie fallen, bleeding the earth red (and sometimes blue, green, or pencil lead gray).
Focus in. The author is muttering something. Sounds like… “Not yet at Pratchett Limit, damn it….”
Alarm! A blank page has appeared, fanged with scene notes, cackling about painting the characters into impossible corners. It lunges, it hisses, it tears! Oh, the humanity!
Grimly, the author slashes and stabs. “Don’t get it right, get it written! Move faster! Send in the plot ninjas!”
Fire and light. Claws catch on clear plastic. Scrap paper shurikens whiz through the air, distracting the creature from its dread move – Writer’s Block.
Squealing, the page keels over.
“150 words.” Panting, the author picks up the cracked mug, and takes a slug of lukewarm chocolate. “Right. Need more written….”
Eyes on the horizon, sets out in search of further fragments to battle.
A/N: Pratchett Limit – 400 words in a day. Ascribed to Sir Terry as the minimum an author should strive for to keep the book moving.