Not for long, but there will be those moments where she's mumbling and she gets that look in her eyes and you know you've lost her. An idea, a character, a song has caught hold and she must capture it; she'll be back. Even better, she'll come back and tell you all about it.

Tell her, gently, when her pen chewing has left a little ink beside her mouth, and make her go outside when she's furrowing her brow after an unsuccessful wrestling match with words. Remind her that though she loves them, there is a whole world beyond to revel in, to re-fuel and return to them restored

And even if she does, trust to the fact that she's rolled it around in her brain (and possibly her journal) for quite some time before she comes out with it. Her words are her tools, her armor. She's best with them when she can shift and spin them on the page. In her throat, sometimes they get caught and fall out all at once-or worse-slide back down and vanish until they flow through her fingers into her next story.