Sarah repeatedly tapped her pencil onto her desk in a fit of frustration, begging for some almighty words of inspiration to trickle out of her mind and into the open notebook lying in front of her.

"Vampires are popular; I could always write a vampire story…" Sarah thought.

Finally putting her pencil to work, she quickly scribbled down several words before tearing the page out of its place and tossing it into the trash can beside her.

"Too cliché!" She grumbled.

She again glanced down at the next page with contempt. Why was it so hard to find a little inspiration? And why was that damn blank page so intimidating?!

She sighed, dropping her head into her hands.

"Come on, you can think of something good…anything," Sarah muttered.

Suddenly she lifted her head and her eyes went wide.

"That's it! Romance, I'll write a romantic story!" Sarah exclaimed joyfully.

It was then that her pencil had begun to drift back towards the paper, nearly making contact when she suddenly retracted it.

"How can I write a romantic story when I don't know the first thing about romance?!" She moaned, plopping her head down onto the notebook in defeat.

"Just write already!" A sudden old male voice caused Sarah to fall backwards out of her chair.

"Who's there?!" She shouted, whipping her head around her bedroom to find no sign of any intruder.

"I've got a deadly weapon!" She called out, lifting up her pencil in defense.

"Oh come on, it's not even sharpened," The strange voice again spoke.

Sarah felt a chill run down her spine, "Who said that?! Show yourself, you creep!"

"Down here you imbecil!"

Sarah glared down at the notebook sitting on her desk, utterly perplexed.

"Is this some kind of prank?"

"No, and I don't appreciate that big head of yours bashing down on me," The notebook said, sitting up from its position.

Sarah, stunned, quickly rubbed her eyes, and after finding that the bizarre situation remained the same, she headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?!" The notebook asked.

"To check myself into the loony bin."

"You sure that's not just another excuse to prevent yourself from having to write?" The notebook asked.

Sarah stopped in her tracks.

"Have a seat, Sarah," The notebook ordered.

"It's just a bad fever dream," Sarah convinced herself, before finally deciding to give in to the supposed to be inanimate object's command.

"Do you notice something wrong here, Sarah?" The book asked as it began to flip through its multitude of blank pages.

"You mean other than the talking notebook?"

"I'm filled with nothing but blank pages, not a single word written, but plenty of pages torn. Do you know why that is?" The notebook asked sternly.

Sarah shrugged, "Because I'm an awful writer?"

"Wrong!" The notebook shut itself closed.

"It's because you needlessly overthink every little insignificant detail!"

"But my ideas are all dreadful."

"How do you know that if you've never even put them into practice?" The notebook retorted.

"Well, because, uh…they're dreadful," Sarah stuttered.

"Dreadful or not, you'll never learn what works until you discover what doesn't! Now stop procrastinating so much and put that pencil to paper!" The notebook said as it dropped back onto the desk and opened itself up.

Sarah, still dumbfounded by the situation, hesitantly retrieved her pencil.

"Just write, huh? Easier said than done…" She thought.

"Now, just think of any concept and write, write to your heart's content, and don't stop to question its quality so much, save that for later," The notebook said.

Sarah nodded, and after taking several seconds to formulate an idea, she finally began to write, this time refusing to tear out any paper, she continued to write and ignored that nasty voice in her head telling her that it wasn't good enough, that she wasn't smart or creative enough to write a good story. It was invigorating. For once not questioning every word on the page, and instead allowing her imagination to roam free.

"That's it! Now you've finally got it!" The notebook exclaimed cheerfully.

Sarah smiled, finally realizing what she had been doing wrong all along. Sure her story was rough and full or errors, but that was all part of the fun. She had begun to create something, something born out of pure passion. Regardless if it were anything even remotely worth reading in its current state, she enjoyed writing it, and that was all that mattered. The outspoken notebook was elated to be filled with so many words, and before Sarah knew it, what once began as a blank canvas became filled with imagination.