Here’s a lesson I learn over and over as a writer. I’ll go through periods of no ideas, no enthusiasm, feeling convinced that every story on earth has already been written, every thought in my head has been expressed so much better by thousands, if not millions, of other writers. And I only go to my desk out of sheer masochism and stubbornness. Then one day an idea comes and I can’t write fast enough. Like today. I’m sitting here right now –  almost dinner time – still in my sweats from exercising early this morning and I haven’t moved or stopped typing all day. Please, somebody, remind me that this is a pattern when I start whining about how hard it is to write. Remind yourself too.