The other day my dear old Dad asked me why it is that I and my late grandfather could weave fiction where he struggles so. I told him not to think too much. I told him that thinking up stories and imagining adventures isn’t very sensible, by definition, and that if you place too much of your energies in being logical and sensible the words will not come.

Sometimes you just have to sit in front of a blank page and see what comes out. Once you have a beginning it’s so much easier to think of a middle and an end. Wherever a piece of writing goes it always needs to have a beginning.

So here I am, in my lunchbreak, that beautiful time of the day where I can let my mind and my energies run riot and what did I find myself doing? Telling myself that I would play a couple of games of freecell while I thought through some article ideas…*sigh*

Sometimes I dispair of me.

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