Where we attempt to smash through writer's block with a silver hammer, an Olivetti Lettera 32, and crossed fingers.
Sometimes, I think my brain is a little like a sofa.
I have all these great ideas and words and phrases hanging about there, tucked under the pillows and shoved down the dark space at the back, wedged in between the cushions. All these ideas, all these lovely things I know I could use, and I can’t reach ‘em.
Sometimes I probably don’t even know they’re still there.