I never do.

9:07 pm. I'm re-doing the midpoint of my book. A frigid wind rages as the blizzard roars outside the windows. Cozy and warm in my little mountain airbnb.

Soft music streams in through my earbuds as I tweak the scene. It's garbage right now, but I see it, the vision, what it could be.

What I'm creating.

I'm creating.

How does this never fail to bring me to my knees? After all these years, you think I'd get used to these moments of flow.

I never do.

I still cry, every time. I still feel so so so lucky that this is my life.