This satisfying story starts with a question that every successful scribbler of fiction has been asked—and then pushes us straight into the terrible Void where one writer’s answer resides.
“Where do you get your ideas from?”
The question came from somewhere out in the audience. Sam squinted but couldn’t see past the stage lights. A bead of sweat tickled his hairline and threatened to roll down his face, smearing his pancake makeup. Those lights were so hot. He struggled with a feeling of irritation and pushed it down, then smiled.
“My ideas? I have a muse trapped in my closet.”
Cue laughter, next question.