I sit in my favorite chair ever, the one where you sit on a bunch of bungee cords, and try to think of something to write my slice about. Ideas come but once the first sentence is written, I scrap the idea. I can imagine crumpled up paper scattered around the room, just like in the movies. Thousands of starts but none good enough. I bounce in chair, wondering if anything happened that’s worth writing about. Some kids played the piano in band today. They were really good and I consider writing about it but then tossed the idea out the window. I could write about the calligraphy project we are doing in art, but we only practiced with the pens today. In this period of writers block, I don’t think I could pull I story out of drawing lines with ink. My mind searches for a solution, a cure for this awful case of writers block, but in the depths of the night there is no solution except to sit in my bungee chair, bouncing.