Ever notice how much writing has in common with playing solitaire? You can play your way into a game for quite a while, building your sets or whatever they’re called, and things are going fine. Then not so much. Skunked again. The card you need to keep playing is under that card you can’t use, can’t move, unless you by God cheat. Other times, you can tell write off – I mean right off – that you’ve got a lousy deal. Might as well shuffle and try again.

That’s what it feels like to me tonight. I had this cool idea to write a vignette – a really short story – about a guy who goes through life thinking it’s totally bizarre that people want to build cemeteries close to, or within, the towns and cities where they live. Why do the living want to keep the dead so close? And whose city is it, anyway?

So I’ve got what I think you’ll agree is a cool premise, especially this time of year, with Dia de los Muertos just a week away. But I can’t seem to lay a groundwork to introduce my character and his setting that will get me to my premise with any sort of alacrity or art.

Skunked again.

Merd.