If you intend on writing a chapter for this, the Author's Guidance is pretty important.
* * *
The text on the page taunted him.
"Feeling brave?"? Do I need to be?
It was almost as if they were daring him to release from within himself the creativity that had lain dormant for so many years. He had been a great writer once, back when he was in school, but these days he had been reduced to working all day and playing video games or partying all night. It had been years now since he had written.
It had all started with one of those social networking sites. Damn things were laced with heroin or something; he couldn't stop obsessively refreshing his info page that summed up the lives of everyone he knew so nicely. 'Ken is dating Sheryl, there's a party off Third, someone made a group for people who went to your public school', he was glued to the page even though half the things it told him were completely useless. But some good had come from it.
He had no idea why the ad had stood out to him. In fact, he couldn't even remember the ad. He saw so many every day he thought he had become desensitized to them. But apparently this one had gotten through to him one way or another. And now he was here.
It called itself an 'interactive fiction & collaborative story writing community', but as far as he was concerned it was 'another chance'. He could start writing again, maybe finally get that novel finished. It would be just like the good old days again.
I don't need courage, I need a damn idea.
It seemed that after all his years of creativity-hibernation, he had lost his muse. Normally the ideas flowed like cheap liquor into an underaged gullet, but now he was as stumped as a paraplegic pirate. He had even tried just adding onto someone else's story, so he wouldn't have to think up a premise, but he couldn't manage that either. Now all he could do was stare at the peculiar message that was left for soon-to-be-authors and wonder why the hell they had chosen those particular words to say before one would get down to writing.
'No, sire, I'm not. Why me? Why must I do this?'
The thought was completely mocking until he realized what it was.
His ideas always came like this; a single word, phrase, or idea would come to mind, and he would just write around it. None of the storyboard or brainstorming nonsense he'd heard some people used. His thoughts were disjointed, and that was the way he liked them. And now that they had formed an idea, he was set.
He began writing.
No, sire, I'm not. Why me? Why must I do this? ...