I wish my imagination could indeed be enhanced by steroids. By bourbon, pot, or sniffing Vicks VapoRub. By coming up with a promising premise, or just a terrific one-liner. (Those last two are frequent dead ends for me. )

I have to wait until I happen to stumble across something which delights me. Alito gets caught flying a right-wing flag outside his house - then does the standard husband thing of blaming his wife. Republicans are desperate to say voting is rigged - so I have them blaming the Borg. The thought that Piper treats me like her admin assistant. After that, the story just unfolds. (Not quickly, though. An eight minute “read” takes me as many days to write.)

The trouble with stumbling across premises which arouse my creativity is that it happens twice a month at most. Talk about sluggish writing.