The Invitation (from Rusty Lake)

I hadn’t written anything decent in 174 days.

Outside my window, Amsterdam’s spring was still cold and grey. A thin fog turned the sunlight into a pale, sickly yellow. On my laptop screen, the cursor blinked in the middle of a blank document, like a quiet countdown. The walls of my tiny apartment were covered in sticky notes, once full of ideas. Now, they looked like meaningless symbols.

I’m Lin Qi, a narrative writer for indie games. Or at least, I used to be. Over the past six months, it felt li...