Woes of the Wordless by Pamela Bennett

A wintry wind rattles the window beside my desk and sleet taps at the glass. The draft whistles through the room like a wraith with icy fingers, so I get up again—for the third time in an hour—to make a hot cup of tea. Could sipping hot tea boost my creative process? Couldn’t hurt. Back at my desk, warming my hands on a cup that says, “Reinvent,” I glare out the window. Stupid Ohio. How is it even possible it