Canning the Muse

When my kids were little, I used to sneak into the bathroom with my writing pad and lock the door. I’d put down the toilet seat (somebody had to do it), and get comfortable; then a switch would flip in my brain and I’d pour my inky prose onto page after page of a budding novel. Behind a locked bathroom door was the only place I could find relief from the constant demands of my life; the only place that allowed me real uninterrupted writing time.