That creaking you hear is the sound of my writer joints as I try to work them back to life.

Here's what it feels like:

I'm standing with a fifteen year old girl at the bottom of a very tall, impossibly tall, can't even see the top tall, mountain. And we keep glancing at each other, wondering if the other is up to the task.

I like this girl, Nan, a lot.

But she and I both know that to get to the top of the mountain (and here comes the most ridiculous mixed metaphor ever) I'm going to have to jump...