We all have demons that keep us from writing. I’ve named mine, but I’m betting you know them. First is Eggbert. He sits on your keyboard in a sleepy, warm little pile, his soft belly spreading over your keys. He’s pale pink and covered with white, silky hairs. His brown eyes have enormous, slow-blinking lids and his rat nose would be frightening if it weren’t for those baggy jowls. Eggbert says in his phlegmatic voice, “You’ve got nothing to write today anyway.” He gives you the most tantalizing yawn and rolls over. If you’re agreeable, he’ll let you scratch his tummy while he tells you of all of the comfy, lovely other things you could be doing. When he sees this isn’t working, he’ll pull out his secret weapon, “You know, if you (go for a walk, lie on the sofa, watch a little telly, take a hot bath, get out among the people) it might really loosen up those creative juices.”