I’m stuck. I’m not writing. All that time theorising and checking commas for an assignment has smothered my muse. My characters were alive in my head. Now they’ve become bored waiting and wandered off. There’s an empty stage. Dust. Tumbleweed. I’m sorry. Come back. I don’t want to ignore you. They made me. Now I’ve done my annual accounts, cleared out my son’s old toys, weeded the garden, and painted the hall and dining room (duck egg blue and mango orange – you probably won’t be seeing me featured in House Beautiful any time soon). You have to come back and save me from myself. We need to get going on the novel again. Hello?