It’s that time of year again – NaNoWriMo. And I find myself, tush in seat, fingers to the keyboard, wracking my brain for a story. My adoring wife wants me to build one to a worst-first sentence I once crafted. That’s not fair, it actually won that particular competition. But it was a throw away line. One intended to illicit a giggle and little more. But now, almost fifteen years later, I find myself trying to find the story in twenty-eight words and a crushed lawn flamingo. Worse yet, procrastinating here, throwing up a blog post, because I haven’t done…