Writing can be hard, can't it?

I've been thinking with little success about writing a short story. The process brought the poem below to mind:

The Short Story

Who, what, where, when, why?

The writer sits, there's a story to be written

But the ideas won't come.

The canvas is blank, both page and brain.

The characters hide from the writer. They sit

And languish in the subconscious. Waiting to be freed

To move from mind to sheet. The ink in the pen

Waits to be used to bring life to

People who don't exist. Yet. But will soon.

Maybe the short story should be about a poet struggling to write a poem, now there's a thought.