I’m sitting in the shade of my patio, listening to crickets chirp, leaves rustle, and cars pass by in the distance. It’s time to write, the opportunity is ripe, but the clacking of my keys is sparse. I keep looking around me, taking my eyes away from the blinking line awaiting my words, words that don’t want to make the journey from my brain to my fingertips and into this digital world. My eyes continually flit back to the porcelain mug on my glass top table. Drips of coffee have dried on its white surface, there’s a smudge of peanut butter from my breakfast, and the words hope*writers stare back…