My words are my friends. My words are my friends. My words are my buddies, my comrades, my bosom pals. Come words come… come…. hummmm… hummmm… Drat.
Where are my ideas? Okay, I exercised, plucked hairs off my oxter and exercised some more. Perhaps I need to pump more blood into my upper body.
Done. So where are my story ideas? Nada.
Scenarios elude me, characters scattered, my thoughts stagnant, my mind is barren! I got nothing! Nothing I tell you! Oh, what madness is this? What misfortune deprive me of my story sense? Can I spin yarn without wool? Can I draw lines without dots? Can I write stories without content? Blast me! My left hand is shoved against my cat’s butt sleeping diagonally on the table, and I’m still without a story idea.
Perhaps, sigh, perhaps I’ll write a Mary Sue, just to get the ideas running.