Writer’s Block

I’m in a pickle.

I don’t know what to do.

The only thing I have left is to write it down and hope someone out there believes me. I’ve spoken to my publisher, my agent, my friends, christ even my loved ones. They don’t want to know!

I’ll try to explain.

4 years ago, I wrote and self-published a successful book, Mindful Man. You might know it. It was a sort of semi-autobiographical tale of an aspiring author who had a near-death experience then developed kinetic superpowers (that was the “sort of” part). In truth, the superpowers from the book was the anxiety I carried away from my accident. I spent months touring the book across the world and talking about mental health, superheroes and the fun life that is that of an aspiring author. Netflix bought the rights to adapt Mindful Man into a show and the fourth season is currently in post-production.

I’ve actually just opened up some mail this morning from Netflix who apparently have “some concerns” with being affiliated with my recent “troubling and erratic” behaviour.

The high of self-publishing a New York Times Bestseller was mirrored by the crushing level of pressure and scrutiny I felt under to produce a follow up. In fact, on my Mindful Man tour, one of the first questions or comments I was often greeted with was:

“So, whens the sequel coming?”

“What’s next for Mindful?”

“Can’t wait to see where he goes next!”

In any line of work, whenever you put something out, the perfect response would be for people to want more and in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I had ideas. I had a whole 4 notepads, Ipad, mobile phone and Mac stuffed full of ideas.

Except, when it came time to sit down and flesh some of those ideas out, all I could do was flick between tabs, check twitter, check Reddit, google my name, watch Netflix, Amazon Prime, BBC Iplayer. Basically, anything I could do to not write.

So, when the email pinged into my inbox with the subject:

Writers Block? Try Hypno-tech!!

I couldn’t have clicked it faster.

The basic premise was this – forget all the notepads in the world. For $500,000 I could attend a 2 day spa where I would hang out and relax whilst hooked up to visionary “Hypno-Tech”. The technology would infiltrate my neocortex and thalamus, extracting directly from my consciousness, imagination and abstract thoughts. It was then programmed to develop these ideas into fully fleshed out stories. I could take these away at the end of the two days and pick away at them until I was happy to take the next step with them. With the number of ideas I had jotted down, I expected to come away with at least one or two follow ups to Mindful Man.

It sounded revolutionary, it sounded terrifying, it sounded really bloody daft. But, it sounded worth the shot. I had earned enough money from Mindful Man to allow me to splurge a bit. This seemed a no brainer (no pun intended). Speculate to accumulate, why not?

Well, here’s why not.

When I awoke, groggy, exhausted and feeling physically like an 80 year old, I was advised by the Hypno-Tech staff that there had been some complications. It had taken much longer than expected to withdraw all the ideas from my brain. Something about the volume of ideas within there being more than expected (sounds like a good thing, right?)

After a few days of rehabilitation, getting some solid food in me, returning to a routine of sleep and exercise, I was finally allowed out of my room and to see the fruits of the Hypno-Tech’s labour.

I was shown into a room lined with novels. 4 walls, stacked from floor to ceiling with published novels and graphic novels. Wherever a break from the books existed were framed movie posters. I expected that these were the final products produced by the programme from the many authors they’d had through their doors.

“Many authors?” the orderly accompanying me had echoed. “No, sir, you were our first patient.”

At that point the room had begun to slide under my feet. When I enquired who’s books these were, I’m sure you know the answer I received. When I was advised that this had in fact taken course over the last 2 years and not the 2 days I had signed up for, I lost all control of my own body and had to be medically supported for a further week.

256 published novels. 14 movies. 12 original TV series. All credited to a pseudonym which I had agreed to have the stories published under as part of the Hypno-Tech inductive legal process. It had been explained to me that they would be published under this pseudonym and then signed back over to me on my departure from the facility, 2 days later.

A week after visiting the Hypno-Tech library and losing full control of my faculties, I woke up, fully clothed on my couch with a vague recollection of how I’d got there and where I’d been for the last 2 years.

Right now, I need your help. If you’re reading this and have ever enjoyed one of Rupert Pupkin’s novels or any series which he’s helped adapt for the big screen, I need you to use your social media to spread my story. As far as I can tell Hypno-Tech have vanished without any trace. The type of thing which is impossible in this day and age of the internet.

I know this is all very far fetched and hard to believe. If you’ve read Mindful Man, PLEASE, I’m begging you, go read some of Pupkin’s work. You’ll see the similarities in writing.

Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.

Editors Note – it is my unfortunate duty to advise that the author of this blog sadly passed away hours after publication. It is this editor’s duty to advise that this post is one of compete fiction. All references to existing companies and personnel are simply coincidental and intended for entertainment purposes only.

Rupert Pupkin

Director, Hypno-Tech.