I’ve got me the block. I can’t write anything more than a few forced words. It feels like writing with a bled dry fountain pen. All scratching, fits and starts. There’s a whole panoply of words building, and I hope that they flow freely at the apotheosis, like a dam bursting. I’d hate them to dissapear down a sinkhole. Here and now, I’m looking out for a muse. Any suggestions?
© Tom Tide 2016