We’re as ubiquitous to the profession as a Weenie Bite Competition is to a Biker Rally: Non-writing writers. The corpses of our stillborn ideas and best intentions lay dying a slow death in computer file folders across the land. They languish, starved and forgotten in the yellowed pages of countless notebooks. They haunt the collective creative consciousness of us all; not quite dead, but not among the living either. We are the slobbering, warty bridge trolls who live in self-imposed exile beneath the literary highway overpass; a highway traveled by those far better than us. And by far better, I don’t mean smarter or more gifted or  funnier or more educated or  better looking (though don’t rule it out); Continue reading →