In one of the "writing" books that I've been reading, it asks "Where do you get your inspiration?" It further goes on to ask what kind of clothes you write best in, and what kind of setting. Well.
Apparently, I write best wearing my Nick and Nora pink "skiing bunny" pajama pants and one of my husband's sweatshirts. My bedhead hair taps the energy from the universe, but especially so if I went to bed with *wet* hair. Having my kids jumping on me, like they are right now, helps. Gets those creative juices flowing. If said children are in dire need of a nose wipe, that must just help me write faster, if not better. If another one of those children are screaming from the bathroom for a new roll of toilet paper (which we happen to be out of) all the better. Add to this Inspiration Soup the following visual:
Last Christmas, my sweet husband repaired a laptop computer of ours that had a broken hardrive. (May it rest in peace.) He ordered the new hardrive and put it all together for me. Keep in mind, this gift required enough forethought to order parts and enough time when I wasn't around to put the whole thing together. It was exceedingly thoughtful, and on Christmas morning, I was delighted by his homemade gift.
Fast forward a mere 4 or 5 hours. Christmas afternoon/evening. Someone (okay, we don't know who, but I'm not going to admit that it was probably me) left the computer on the floor. Sweet Husband goes toward to couch to give The Kitteh her once-a-year affectionate Christmas pet, and he hears a slight *crunch*. Upon moving the blanket that the computer was under and opening it for inspection, we see that the liquid crystal screen of the refurbished Lappy has shattered. But you can still see the screen. It's just cracked.
Now, fast forward slowly over the months and watch with me--like on of those PBS science shows that shows the petals of a flower unfolding--as the splinters in the screen slowly start spreading black patches. This march of death kind of starts at the top of the screen and spreads from the cracks. At first, it looks like a big squashed spider. By now, it looks like a "New York at Night" sattelite picture. In order for me to see any particular window that I want to work on or look at, it requires moving the window waaaaay down to the bottom. If I want to close the window, I just start clicking under the black parts of the screen until I find the "X" button that I can no longer see.
Oh, and my "L" key is gone, so I have to hit the little knobby thing where the key should be.
This, my friends, is the machine and the inspiration that is going to help me write The Great American Novel. But for now, I'd better go come up with some toilet paper....