Some days it feels like the idea well has run dry. That this whole writer thing might have run its course, then days like today happen. I’m trying to edit one book, but three different ideas won’t stop fighting for attention in my head. I’ve drawn the conclusion that there are tiny people who live in there and they are the ones who feed me inspiration for new work. It also seems that they take breaks, or vacations, and when they return it’s with a vengeance. They are very narcissistic, these tiny people, all insistent that their idea is the best. I don’t envy them, my parasitic tine people, because they have a hard job. They have to come up with story ideas that will capture my attention and my attention span can be short. If their ideas make it past my multitasking mayhem, then they have to attract the attention of readers. It’s not an easy job, but somebody must do it. These tiny people with their crazy thoughts and their insistence that everything they create is the best, they are the muse to my fingertips, the Picasso to my creativity, and the heart of my stories. My heart is with my tiny people, and they say I’ve got to go…another argument over who gets their story written next needs my supervision–as I’m sure you can understand.