Inside the think tank

I need two things in order to be wordily creative: one is a feeling of solitude and the other is reduced stimulation on my senses.

When I have a shower I have already ensured that it is safe to shut out the outside world for fifteen minutes, and I often wait until everyone's left the house before I get in. Any outside noise such as the telephone or doorbell, or a late-rising teenager stomping up and down the stairs is masked by the constant noise of water. There is no movement - as there would be when I'm sitting at my laptop - of people coming and going, the postman delivering mail, or the dog pacing, and waking up my field of vision or alerting my ears to the potential need for action. Instead I am in a shroud of water vapour - and I'm short-sighted too.
That square of light is a skylight. So there's nothing to see but sky and birds. Imagine it out-of-focus. There is almost no colour through that veil of steam either.

An idea may have already germinated in my head from reading or seeing something on the news, or hearing something discussed on the radio. It will be based on an observation of society or relationships. I feel as though I have no control over this initial inspiration, although it is of course something that has made me think.

When it is time for me to take over and control like puppets the characters that are pushing into my head, I feel an overwhelming urge to have the space and peace needed to concentrate on one thing and one thing only. Any interruption is like sticking a pin in my thought bubble. It's all ruined, tainted, diluted by practicalities or distracting sights or noises. The new characters are like timid fairies, waiting to be allowed to talk to me, and insulted if I don't give them my full attention.

Once those fairies have appeared from the mist I must hurry to take down their story. A notebook or laptop - on the bathroom floor - or waiting for me in the bedroom.
As the mist clears and my freshly inserted contact lenses reveal the imperfections of a messy household, I hurry to transfer my thoughts and inspirations into readable words.

Sometimes things are lost forever, others started and never finished. But now I know how my brain works I know that that is the time; the only time in the day when my word fairies are brave enough to dance like no one's watching.