This post, Better Jobs was written in the carpark of the hospital, and then on the drive home.
This very sad (but one of my favourites) story was written on the walk to preschool, when I saw a photo stuck to a telegraph pole.
The tale of the crab was written as I walked down the street.
More often than not, I lie in bed writing in my head - dictating what I will type the next morning, should I remember.
I constantly have characters coming into my ear, pleading for me to share their tale of woe, like a lesser Pirandello. They keep coming back if I ignore them, or decide it's too hard or beyond my ability. They also come back if they aren't happy with my effort. I don't need editors to tell it's no good. The character starts nagging me because I 'got it wrong'.
I have ideas I want to expand on or share, but usually only a fraction are still there when I sit down to type. Sometimes I start composing posts because I don't know what my opinion is on a subject, and if I put it into words, it clarifies what I think.
It makes me sad that there is never enough time to put it all down in words.
"The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe." Gustave Flaubert
Linking with #IMustConfess