I look forward to sitting down in front of the computer, taking an idea from my notes and running with it.  I spend hours painting pictures with words.  I indulge myself in murder, suspense, and fantasy.  I relish creating characters, scenery, dialogue, and plot.  On a good night, ideas flow in torrents from my fingers to the keyboard, to the page.

     My allotted time passes by in a flash.  I long to delete the tiny clock in the corner of my screen that shows me my interlude is nearly over.  “Just five more minutes,” I whisper.  A line used on my parents when they caught me reading a book, under the covers by flashlight, long after bedtime.

     On a bad night, my Ideas come in fits dragged from the depths, screaming in agony the words struggle to be born.  Those are usually my best works.  At that point, I realize again that the best things that come to us in life come through struggle and pain.  Therefore, a bad night is the best time to take joy in my writing.