Once upon a time a writer had a desk job, in an office, with a window. She worked at her desk job day in and day out, and when she went home she thought about her desk and the work waiting.
Then one day she looked out the window, in her office, beside her desk. She saw people out there, living out their lives, and she wondered about the woman in the mini-van and the driver of the semi parked in the driveway. Was he aware of the two people idling behind his semi, or the one who just went over the curb to get around it?
Was the semi full of explosives, or had someone drilled up through the pavement into the cab and kidnapped the driver? Writers wonder about stuff like that.
And as she wondered, she noticed a computer sitting on her desk. And slowly the words began to come. One word. Then another. And the wonderings became reality, so quickly that she wondered (there’s that word again) if these stories were sitting in the other cubicles around her desk, in her office, or just on the other side of the window whispering the details of their lives to the writer.
The wonderings became more wonderings, and soon the desk vanished (her work was done for the day) and the office vanished, and the window vanished. Still she continued writing, and will, I’m certain, until they nail shut her coffin. With her computer by her side.
Once upon a time, a writer had something to say. It’s that simple.