Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I have writer's block. I just do. Sometimes if I blog about not being able to blog it unclogs me, so I'm hoping this is the trick.

I write and write, and then I read and read, and it is so banal and unworthy of publication.

I'm looking at my favorite apple, Honeycrisp. They have a short growing season so you should buy as many as you can if you see them. They're amazing, I swear. I see my favorite ink pens--black, blue, and red--Pilot G2. I just got them, and I'm in love. There's distilled water on my desk, my favorite thing to drink.

Banal. My day-to-day, ultimately devoid of blogging.

A guy who graduated from the same college I did several years ahead of me committed suicide over writer's block. He was a brilliant budding playwright, and everyone loved his work and encouraged him. Then, one day, the words wouldn't come. He had been such a shining star that no one ever thought to tell him that sometimes creation is fickle. His muse left him dry, and he left this world, not knowing that sometimes even genius struggles.

I wish I were a genius, but I'm glad someone told me the story of the man who committed suicide over dried up words. Now I know that writing is nothing to die over.