Sometimes when I sit down to write and that blank screen stares back at me my mind hangs out the vacancy sign.  What was it that I thought would be a good line?  Dang lost it.  Then there are times when I sit down at the computer and the words fly as fast as my fingers can type.

     This is not one of those great moments of flight.  I have to reach deep, drag each word out kicking and screaming, type them, delete them retype them.  Delve for new words.  Deal with interruptions—the dogs want out.  Oh, fun it’s freaking cold out there.  Get up, take one out, then the other, sit back down in front of the computer, and again stare at the screen.  Why did I write that?

     My muse is silent and my little editor has gone on vacation, most likely, he’s taken my advice and gone somewhere warm.  I feel a draft coming from somewhere.  Should I go hunt it down or sit here and work?  My brain says work my cold hands and feet say go look for the draft.  Instead, I brew another cup of tea and keep typing.