Being an author wasn't always the easiest. Was it fun? Of course, someone's imagination could be written out in any way they wanted. They could cherish it for themselves or share it with the world.

But for Lukas? Hell, he can't publish a book. He's stuck in a cycle: He's writing one story, gets halfway through it, and suddenly, he finds himself crafting another book and quill. He's done it so many times to the point that he runs out of resources multiple times. At least Dewey brings home feathers once in a while.

Today, the gang were all off doing their own thing. Jesse was walking around the town, talking to everyone, Petra was out exploring the big wide world, Olivia was messing with some Redstone... and Lukas? He sits at his desk, staring down a book like it had personally insulted him and his ocelot.

The quill is clutched in his left hand, freshly dipped in ink. Yet it hasn't written a single word on the paper. Lukas doesn't know what to write. For the first time in weeks, he has no clue what he wants to write. He's tried going back to old books to finish them, but everything he tries to think of doesn't make sense. Then he tried writing down life experiences, maybe get some ideas, yet not even that works.

Lukas groans as he lets his head fall forward, the contact causing a small "thud." He absolutely has no idea what to do now. He can hear Dewey slapping around one of her spring toys... at least she's not bored.

He shifted in his chair, looking up when he heard his front door open. Lukas is used to you coming to his house. It's normal. Maybe even a small comfort for him that he doesn't acknowledge.

"Hey,"

He greeted, closing the blank book and setting the quill down.

"What are you doing here?"