Sorry about the last week, my brain just stopped working, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to write about. I’ve been driven in desperation to WordPress’s prompts, and to one which asks us to pick a letter, any letter, and start each sentence in a post with it. Well, maybe it’ll get me going…


Begin each sentence with the same letter. Bloody hell. By the time I’d reached the second sentence I was stuck. Best if I choose some other letter, perhaps. But I can’t just give up so easily. Better writers than me probably would. Brainier ones, too. Bet Shakespeare didn’t spend his time doing this. Boswell either. Brown cows in a field would make a more exciting thing to write about than this. Bulls too. By gum, bulls and brown cows together, that would have possibilities. Butch Cassidy would have spend a lot of time around brown cows, because he was a cowboy. Brokeback Mountain – that had cowboys in it too. Bugger me if it didn’t. Balls of steel I’ll need if I decide to leave that joke in.

Pick a letter. Put it at the start of every sentence. Pretty simple? Possibly not. Perhaps I could pick a story topic that would help. Penguins could feature. Parrots too. Perched on their, well, perches. People might rather read a story about brown cows in a field. Pasture, really. Pasturised milk is what you’d get from them. Pathetic joke, I know. Prefer the one in the last paragraph? Paragraph was totally wasted there, I could have started a sentence with it.

Choose a letter and start each sentence with one. Cool. Can’t be too hard. Can it? Couldn’t I write about, say, animals? Cows, maybe. Could be brown ones. Corralled in a field. Clever, that. Cunning, even. Cowboys could also feature. Cassidy, the guy in the film. Cor, I can’t think of his first name just at the moment. Curious, isn‘t it?

Select a letter. Start each sentence with it. Sentences like this one. Sounds easy. Simple, really. See? (Silence). ‘Snot as easy as I thought, actually. Somehow ideas run out pretty quickly. Suppose I could write about animals. Sepia cows, in a field, maybe.

Tinman’s back. Terrible, isn’t it?