It's that point where you realise, staring at the never-meeting parallel lines on the notepaper, that everything you were about to write is just a long sequence of same-old cliches - the sound of the phone shattered the silence, he froze with the glass halfway to his lips - and any way you try to write it will just sound like you're trying to avoid the same-old cliches. There is no new way of saying anything that isn't in some way a cliche, and that's a cliche in itself.

Who'd be a writer, eh?