For years, the enigmatic creature known as Bigfoot has managed to evade the limelight, living in the remote, peaceful forests of the Pacific Northwest. But these days, Bigfoot isn’t just hiding from hikers or blurry cameras—he has a new challenge. He’s become a wildly popular columnist for an online publication known as The Existence Enquirer, writing daily articles for more than half a year. Recently, however, Bigfoot has been facing an unexpected enemy: writer’s block.
At first, the publication was met with enthusiasm and wild success, trying to fill the void left by the now silenced, but once mighty, voice of The Weekly World News, and the idea was right up Bigfoot’s alley. What better way to stay connected with the modern world without actually showing up in it? His readers loved hearing about the goings on in the lives of himself and legendary cryptids. He covered everything from alien abductions to the eating habits of the Chupacabra. The novelty of hearing Bigfoot’s thoughts on current events had drawn in readers by the dozens. But now, as he sits at his cluttered desk, surrounded by towering stacks of research and looking at a site bereft of any clear following, Bigfoot has no idea what to write.
For months now, he has stared at his computer, screen blank, and the now dwindling fan count on the site mocking him. The usual routine hasn’t been working. A stroll through the woods—his favorite form of procrastination—had failed to spark any new ideas. He’d even tried peering into a nearby campsite, hoping to catch some human drama to write about. Nothing. The campers just sat there scrolling on their phones for clips and sound bites, oblivious to the great hairy figure lurking in the shadows and the compelling stories he once tried to get them to read.
Frustrated, Bigfoot has retreated to his modest, but overpriced, apartment. Tapping his large, shaggy fingers against his chin he mutters to himself, “How can I write when there’s nothing to say?” and begins rubbing his temples with eyes closed. It’s not like him to struggle for words. After centuries of not talking at all, he’d had so much to say for the better part of a year. The irony isn’t lost on him—now that he finally has a fairly established platform, his mind has gone completely blank.
But deadlines were deadlines, even for a creature as elusive as Bigfoot. His editor was expecting a column by midnight on the first day of August, and now in mid-October, there is no time for excuses. Sure, it would be easy to call up and claim a rare case of Bigfoot flu, a sickness that does not impact humans but they are at times still scared of for some reason, but he had gone to that well too many times already. He had to write something.
Today, Bigfoot is doing what any desperate writer would do: he sits down and starts typing. At first, the words come slowly. He finds himself rambling about how nature, his usual muse, seems quiet today. He describes the sound of the wind in the trees, the birds chirping lazily as if they too had run out of energy. But none of it feels right. It doesn’t have his usual charm or wit.
Then, a thought strikes him. What if he writes about this very moment? About the struggle, the frustration, the peculiar reality of being a famous cryptid with writer’s block? He hesitates for a moment, then chuckles. Maybe that’s the solution—turn the problem itself into the story.
He writes about how strange it was for a creature known for staying hidden to now seek to be seen and heard by the masses. He reflects on the pressure of maintaining a regular column when you’re not exactly used to sharing your thoughts, much less meeting deadlines. He even pokes fun at his own predicament, describing how he’s considered writing about what the squirrels were up to but had realized that no one cares about squirrels. People everywhere only seem interested in quick snippets of video that make them feel something, even for a fleeting moment.
As he continues, something clicks. Maybe his readers don’t need groundbreaking insights every week. Maybe they’d appreciate knowing that even Bigfoot—the legendary, mysterious figure people had been chasing for centuries—had off days, at times even months, too. After all, wasn’t that what makes him relatable? He isn’t just a creature of myth; he is someone who faces the same challenges as anyone else trying to get by in the world, seeking to feel things himself, he just had more hair and slightly bigger feet.
By the time Bigfoot finishes, he has written an entire article about his struggle to write an article. In it, he had hit on the importance of connection and deeper meaning that his articles always promised, a promise much of the internet that he spoke to no longer offered. It wasn’t flashy, but it was honest. And sometimes, that is enough.
The Ghost of Andrew Crowe
