These writing spells come and go. Sometimes they overwhelm me, like a river bursting its banks and flooding the field, drowning the little villagers and destroying homes with beautiful yet grotesque ideas. Other times, it doesn't come. I wait. And wait. And wait for this drought to end, for a single drop of rain, acidic or not, to fall into my mind. Today, there's nothing.
Image from Chrissie White
Won't you help? Be the one to hose me down with the water I desperately need. I'm begging you. Inspire me, Please?