Intro. to The Valley of Death

The plot is not explained at all in the opening.
These are the first few paragraphs of my book...What do you think.

I fumbled casually through my coffee mug of pens and pencils, while the breeze from a ceiling fan caressed my neck. Constantly wiggling in my chair, I sought to find a comfortable position to start writing. Once relaxed, I jerked on a desk lamp and reached for a fresh sheet of paper. So many thoughts crowded my mind and the clutter of my room overwhelmingly distracted me. My attention drifted from one area of the chaotic room to another. The dancing light of the fireplace did not aid in my attempt to stay focused either. The bed was not made up, the wood of the fireplace crackled, a myriad of books lay strolled across the floor, and the wind blew tree branches up against my windows.
“ Peace, Where are you?”, I whispered to myself, while reaching for a pen that stood out to me. I scribbled the date at the right hand corner of the paper and proceeded in trying to paint my ideas on the blank sheet. It was quite difficult to write about myself. I wrote about other people, random events, and other topics in the newspaper in which I headed, but could never find it in me to express how my life was or had been in the form of writing. Though writing was my way to escape reality and find peace, the idea of traveling into the depths of my very own mind was very much so like hell on Earth.
I held memories that I spent my whole life repressing, so bringing them back to my conciseness was literally unimaginable. Nothing depressing or even disappointing had happened recently that would stop me from carrying on the task of writing a simple journal entry, but I just couldn't take the journey into the bottomless pit in which I called my brain.
So, as I had done many times before, I began to jot verses of poetry unto the paper. Everyday I wrote “Today was...” and never could follow with any personal accounts. Therefore, I had a poetry book, the size of a phone book. Even though the leather bound diary had the words Malik's Personal Journal, not a single drop of ink had contained a trace of the inner most thought of its owner. All the etchings and lyrical doodles were personally detached poetry that relieved me of the frequent urges to write.

I really love this, it's brilliant. You write with such confidence, I can totally relate to your character because his emotions are so real and so true. The only problem I had was that it was so short, I really wanted more, perhaps you could mention why Malik's frustration for not being able to write, perhaps you could mention his attempts at finding some form of inspiration to aid him.
Anyway, like I mentioned before I totally love this, it's really good and I cannot wait to read more!
*coco

It's very good for a start. The whole piece flowed very well and as coco already said, the character is very easy to relate to and understand. There are a few things that did confuse me a bit.

My attention drifted from one area of the chaotic room to another. The dancing light of the fireplace did not aid in my attempt to stay focused either. The bed was not made up, the wood of the fireplace crackled, a myriad of books lay strolled across the floor, and the wind blew tree branches up against my windows.

So the first sentence addresses the chaotic-ness of the room, which makes sense, nothing wrong there. I feel that the second sentence should be where the 3rd is and that the fire bit should be left out of the second sentence. So it would look more like:

My attention drifted from one area of the chaotic room to another. The bed was not made up, a myriad of books lay strolled across the floor, and the wind blew tree branches up against my windows. The dancing light of the fireplace did not aid in my attempt to stay focused either.

I don't know, my personal preference to be honest, but as you can see that way you don't address the fire twice and still get the point across. I'm sure that everyone is aware a fire crackles ^^. Also the use of the word "either" usually works best when added to an already ongoing list of things.

I wrote about other people, random events, and other topics in the newspaper in which I headed, but could never find it in me to express how my life was or had been in the form of writing.

I'm having a hard time understanding this part of the sentence, maybe my brain is just turned off, but it seems unclear as to what is headed, or what even headed is. (I'm guessing this person works for this newspaper?)

In a few sentences you describe how writing is for this person, I can understand all of it but it begs for more detail. Also there are a lot of clashing elements, the person seems determined to write but at the same time it seems that it's almost agony to write. Some tiny little details as to why would make a big difference.

I realize I wrote a lot of stuff here for such a short passage but please believe me, I don't mean anything in a negative way. Sentence progression and details are like the two hardest things to keep in mind when writing a draft so absolutely no penalties against you.

Good start! I'd love to know where this is going to go.