Writers’ block. That old demon. I started my first blog ever and bang! silence. Who would have thought it? I’ve written 120,000 words of narrative non-fiction and looking for a publisher. I’ve even started a sequel. Then there’s the dilapidated Trip Book that I found in a dumpster and carried in a neat circumnavigation of the spanish/french Pyrenees. It’s full of words. Even a few french ones. Perhaps that’s the trouble. I read somewhere that birds have only enough room in their brains for a certain amount of songs. I may have reached my quota. A literary swansong.