He rang me. ‘Help, I don’t know what’s wrong with Maggie. She’s sitting in front of her laptop saying over and over ‘plot, plot’.’
‘Ah, she’s lost her plot.’
‘I could help her look for it.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, no! You don’t mean she’s ‘lost the plot’? Does she need a psychiatrist?’
‘No, just a fellow writer. Take the kids to the park.’
I arrived with supplies. Large cappuccino. Chocolate. Crisps.
It took two hours but Jen got back into her plot again.
Sometimes only a fellow writer understands.