How can I be a writer if I can't write?

You were a writer. A really good writer. Every writing teacher you ever had in school said you should be a professional writer. Your friends were impressed when you showed them your stories, your parents had all your short stories and poetry bound professionally and put them on their bookshelves, and every girlfriend you ever had told you they wished they could write like you. <br><br>College was a breeze because you took all the writing classes they offered, and even ended up teaching a few. After college, you landed a good job at a newspaper in a big city, and even had your own column on a subject you knew a lot about and loved. Your future was bright, and you were a writer. <br><br>Then one day, it just stopped. You sat at your desk at work, ready to write your column, and you... couldn't. You couldn't even come up with a single line. You spent the whole day at work staring at a blank piece of paper that was supposed to be your column. Still nothing. <br><br>The people you worked for were understanding, and said you could take some time off to get your muse back. But you didn't want to take time off. You wanted to write. So you sat at work staring at blank paper, not writing anything. <br><br>It had been about a year, and you were still not writing. Your job was still letting you take time off, with pay, but your friends and family were getting worried. You didn't go out with them anymore, you just sat at home and stared at a stack of blank paper. You even stopped reading. No one knew what to do, or how to help you. <br><br>You sat in bed, staring at the wall, not even having the energy to get to your desk. "I used to be a writer," you said. Your girlfriend heard you. "You are still a writer," she said. You shook your head. "How can I be a writer if I can't write?" You asked. <br><br>"You can't stop being who you are just because of a difficult time. I'm still a doctor even when I'm not at the hospital, right?" <br><br>"You're still a doctor when you're not at the hospital because you can still do what you do," you said. "I can't do what I do. I can't write." <br><br>"Maybe there's a reason." She said. <br><br>"What reason?" You asked. <br><br>"I don't know." <br><br>"Well, find out," you said. You didn't mean to sound so harsh, but you did. <br><br>"I'm sorry," you said. <br><br>"I'm going to go try and figure out why you can't write," she said. She left the house and you went to sleep. <br><br>The next morning, you woke up to a strange feeling. You got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. "Hey," your girlfriend said. "Look at that stack of blank paper," you said. "What's so special about it?" She asked. "It's no longer blank." You said. There were words on the pages. It was a story. <br><br>"What made you suddenly write again?" She asked. <br><br>"Maybe you figured out why I couldn't write." You guessed. <br><br>She smiled. "Let me go read," you said. You read the pages. It was a really good story. "How about I take some more time off work and finish?" You asked. <br><br>"Don't you want to know what it's about?" She asked. You stopped. You didn't even know what you had written. "What's it about?" You asked. <br><br>"I don't know," she said. "Read it, and we'll both find out." You smiled. "I'll go write more," You said. <br><br>"You know what? I'm going to go back to work too," she said. You both went back to work.