Sometimes the words come easy. They walk up to you, cut straight through all the noise and chatter and say, “Hey there you sexy writer. How about I buy you a chapter?” One chapter leads to another and, before you know it, you’re giddy. You’re syllable-drunk and conjunction-struck.

Then there are those times when the words play hard to get. You see them from across the room but, try as you might, you just can’t make a connection. You try to seduce them with music and promises of thoughtful walks in the park but they have better things to do.

You get desperate and, the more desperate you become, the less likely it is that the words will take you home. The words, after all, have standards.