I had kicked off my shoes to reach the comfortable spot where ideas grow as thick as cherries on a spring tree. It wasn't working. The screen was white. No nifty ideas were boiling inside or outside my mind.
The chain of random thoughts failed to inspire any thing I could hang my hat on.
If only there was a scale like the four C's of diamond grades: cut, carat, clarity and color. Some scale or system of grading that told me this is good or just give it up.
Beautiful writing will remain, like art, within the eye of the beholder.
My fingers hover over the keys convincing me I cannot write.
