The writer taps his fingers on the keyboard, but not actually typing any words. He has a problem. His characters have nothing to pull them through the world he built. It is too perfect. Every convenience is accounted for. All wants satiated.
Money is not needed because of the nano-tech he painstakingly constructed that builds everything out of a special kind of atomic stacking.
Antagonism has been ruled obsolete due to the complete reverse engineering of the human brain.
The worlds exploration and history has all been pre-created.
The writer leans back in his chair and sighs. He built the perfect world and sadly he realizes, perfect worlds make sad settings for fantasy.
Then it dawns on him.
He will make a character whose job it is to search for something to be excited about. The character will lift every bed curtain, look in every drawer, peer into every closet and cave and hole in the ground. He will make problems if he cant find one.
The writer cackles madly as he types the words, The MacGuffin Hunter, deciding it is the best title he has ever written.
Three days later his wife checks him into the hospital, “for some rest.”
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