An Unlucky Interlude

I scrubbed at my face blearily and made a noise of exhausted frustration. The cursor blinked at me mockingly, each blip a reminder of my painful diagnosis: Writer's Block.
The last time I'd suffered a case of it, it had taken me nearly six months to recover. The symptoms included dissatisfaction, self-depreciation, tired eyes, sore fingers, and a splitting headache that four Tylenol pills had yet to abolish.
The fact that I had a wisdom tooth incoming wasn't helping, and I was certain that my right hand was developing carpal tunnel.
I reached beneath my laptop to adjust it, and swore violently when hot metal seared my fingers.
"Tsk, Sara, such language," a smooth voice scolded, gently. I turned to glare at the intruder, who lounged in the over-stuffed arm chair, one tight-clad leg dangling over the arm of it, with the booted foot of his other leg propped up on the knee.
"Why the hell does the bottom of a laptop get so damn hot, anyways?!" I demanded, "It's a laptop, not a 'smallish-computer-that-gets-too-hot-to-actually-rest-on-your-lap-top."
"Your observation shows a rare level of brilliance that is entirely unique to the human race," Jareth replied, tapping a riding crop against his boot.
I scowled and ignored him, turning back to the screen, though words still failed me.
After I had stared at the glaring whiteness of the blank document for a long while, Jareth's amused voice stated, "You have no idea where you're going, do you."
"Not a clue."
"Would you like some assistance?"
I nearly howled, "Fifteen chapters, fifty-two pages, thirty-nine thousand words into the story, now is not the time for writer's block!!"
He was behind me in an instant, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly as my head struck wood, the sure sign of a writer's defeat that was affectionately known as 'The Headdesk'.
"Would you like some more of that disgusting concoction that you so thoroughly rely upon for your inspiration?" The Goblin King suggested, motioning to the empty Dr. Pepper can sitting on the desk beside my computer.
I whimpered, "I'm two days out of the good Doctor, and payday is two more days away."
"Aww," Jareth patted me on the head affectionately, and one could almost pretend there wasn't any sarcasm in his voice, "You poor little dear. What is it that's giving you so much difficulty? I was under the impression that you had the general outline of the plot all figured out."
"I do."
"So…?"
"There's no dinosaurs in it."
I could practically hear those eyebrows hitting his hairline, "I beg your pardon?"
"Putting dinosaurs into the mix makes every below-average grade story into a success!"
"…"
"It worked for the Jurassic Park sequels."
"Sara, dear--"
"And Ice Age 3."
"Sara--"
"And, I guarantee that if dinosaurs had been in the Star Wars prequels, they would've done a lot better."
He spun my chair around suddenly, "SARA."
"What?!"
"You are not putting dinosaurs into my Labyrinth."
I was offended, "Of course not."
"Good."
"They'll be in the castle."
He face palmed, and I was hasty to add, "Hey, if Tolkien can put giant freakin' elephants into his story, than why can't I have dinosaurs?!"
"For the same reason you can't have giant robots," he explained, his patience audibly strained, "It just won't--"
"Oh!!! Giant robots!!! Jare-bear, you're BRILLIANT!"
"Oh god, please don't--"
I stood, stretching my hands to outline a banner, and saying in my Epic Voice, "Transformers vs. Dinosaurs, Battlefield Labyrinth! The Story that Jim Henson never thought of!"
I hugged my unfortunate muse, got glitter all over my clothes in the process, and sat down at my laptop, my fingers flying at 85 WPM.
Jareth flopped down on the couch, glancing at the clock and burying his face in his hands, moaning, "Oh this is going to be a long night…"