I don’t know where my story is going. The last time I got a few words down, I set up a scene with two characters alone, but now I can’t remember why. The villains are jeering at me, the protagonist is stone-faced, the other characters have wandered off for a drink or gone to bed early. My kid who hated reading is beating me at words with friends, as is a bald hairdresser I met in prison. I’m spending too much time playing solitaire. Sounds like writers block to me. I used to sneer at those people, who complained in pitiful blog posts that they were stuck. Hell, I could crank out 250 words waiting for the onions to brown in a sauté pan! Now, instead of ‘soon to be famous writer’ I am ‘used to be a writer’.