“You wake up and your shoes don’t fit.”
I swirl my latte, watching the cocoa dusting fracture and split. “No, nothing.”
Jordan smiles patiently. “Not even a flicker? We just need to ignite an idea.”
“Nothing,” I sigh.
“Two blueberries fall into your soup.”
I shake my head.
“You befriend a squirrel in a park.”
“You didn’t even consider that. I know it’s hard, but you signed a contract and have a commitment to produce a third novel.”
“I can’t do it. My readers embraced a fantasy I created, and now they crave a mundanity I can’t deliver.”
“You can still tell stories. People enjoy your writing, whatever the genre.”
My finger vacantly sketches a sword in a coffee spill. Jordan places her hand on mine, smearing the doodle.
“You meet a lady in a bakery.”
“Think about it,” she says, finishing her iced tea and standing to leave, “and write something.”
With a smile, she mounts her battle-bike and revs the formidable engine. The gatling gun whines as she fades into the horizon. In the distance I hear a dragon roar, followed by rattling gunfire.
“I befriend a squirrel…” I murmur, sipping my latte.