But this morning I'm reading Daniella Brodsky's Vivian Rising and I've just come across this:
'... I'm not getting off the phone with you until I think of a good piece of advice.'Next time I'm having a day like that, I won't describe it to myself as the insertion and removal of commas, but rather as an attempt to think of a rhyme for flounder. In my family, any pointless endeavour is known as 'calling a Burmese cat', but the search for an impossible rhyme is a more fitting metaphor with regard to the writing life.
'We might be here awhile. Remember the Pacific Seafood Extravaganza debacle?' I say, recalling the day I was out sick and Wendy stayed at the office till after midnight thinking up a good rhyme for flounder.
'Right,' she says. 'I still don't know how your grandmother came up with "grab a pounder of flounder."'
There are three different possible ways out of wasting a whole day in this manner, all of which involve reframing the problem rather than, erm, floundering around looking for a solution to the existing one, whatever it is, that you have idiotically set yourself:
1) Come up with an outrageous Ogden Nashish solution, as per 'pounder of flounder'.
2) Write blank verse.
3) Think of a different fish, but not lobster or oyster. Whiting, say, or shark. Better still, eel.