I have a lot of days where I'm contentedly inspired. I'm not sure how to explain it, but as far as I can tell, it's a mild relaxation that seems to occur when I know exactly what I want to write. The thoughts, the sentences and the metaphors and the dialogue, just sit there in the back of my mind, marinating in one big happy bubble. I smile, I go through the day with this "atta girl" mentality, and I get home ready to attack the next few thousand words.
Then life happens, and I'm chasing a late assignment or my husband needs help with something, or my car needs to be picked up from the shop. Suddenly it's almost midnight and I have to dive into bed just so I can be coherent the next morning.
That was yesterday. And the bubble is starting to wear thin.
I've taken to carrying a notebook around with me, one that obviously isn't for work - those are scuffed, dirty and covered in doodles from waiting for that last guild member or commissioner so the meeting can start. My 'me' notebooks are pretty; I like them that way. I can toss them in my purse and take off out the door, then when inspiration strikes halfway through my lunch hour, it's there. Even though I don't think I'll ever prefer using a notebook to typing (it's so much faster!), it's nice to have it there, just waiting for an executive session when there are no city officials left in the room.