Now I've degaussed my rectal wax . . .I'm a quitter, a bail outter - a write-blocked, half-steppin' nancy with a smiling face. The call to action suggests tweeting Norman to join me for Torpedos and a little play date shit. Norman is published, first a few journal articles then his coup de ville - a self-published gem on Amazon that preceded that shades of gray mind-boggler and made Norman some Hasselhoff ka-ching. I waited until he was here for at least two mugs before getting into my dilemma. You know what the bastard came back with? He said my constriction to my word construction was because I've never been shot. Like in with a gun with bullets, I inquired? He mentioned George Orwell, J.R.R.Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and Kurt Vonnegut as just a few examples of writers who experienced a bullet in them and using the experience to write about why there is evil in mankind. He silenced my thoughts about leaning on him further for more directions as he always seems to be able to do. When he left I just laughed thinking does Norman actually think I'll consider being shot just to give me new meaning to what I write. My exploits, my aggressions, this thing called the creative process - Ha! Torpedo me, bro.