Darren looked at his typewriter. The blank sheet of paper set in the machine stared back at him tauntingly. No, accusingly. This was angry paper, but its anger couldn’t match Darren’s frustration.

His eyes flitted across the desk to his writing partner, Evan, who was clicketty-clacking out yet another sketch for their show. How did he do it? The man was unstoppable. Granted, he didn’t write the best material they had, but he was at least prolific.

“Hey, Evan,” said Darren. “D’you ever get writer’s block?”

“I’unno,” replied Evan, his fingers still hammering away at the metal keys. "Maybe. Sometimes, I guess. Why?’

“How d’you deal with it?”

“Hm?”

“Writer’s block,” Darren repeated. “How d’you get past it?”

Evan stopped typing for a moment and considered the question. “I guess,” he said eventually, “I just keep writing anyway.”

He resumed typing. Darren thought on this, and after a few seconds the room was filled with the sound of two writers clicketty-clacking away at their typewriters.