Why is it the only place that seems conducive to writing is my desk at work? I'm supposed to be working, answering phones processing paperwork, all this stuff, and all I want to do is write. And it's not just the want of creation. It's the creation itself! It's happening in my head, right there at my desk, and I find myself flipping back and forth through windows doing work and writing at the same time, all the while trying very hard not to get caught. I get my work done to a point, but the verse does no ebb! From the time I sit down until the train taking me back home, my characters play out their scenes in my head, and I am but the observer, slowing them down just enough to bring their lives to life on paper.
but why at work? Is it the thrill of possibly getting caught? Is it the focus already in place that makes it easier for the ideas to come forth whole? Is it the unremembered dreams of the night prior coming back for one last moment of glory in the light of day? I'm not sure, really. All I know is I've gotten quite efficient at Alt-Tab-ing my way into looking busy. Let's see how long that lasts...
8/6/08
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