It was during the six-hour car ride on the way home that it happened. Four days in Ohio eating turkey, catching up with the cousins. Even running with the with the early morning shoppers on Black Friday (don’t even try and explain that one). It had been a nice holiday, the first I can remember in a long time that didn’t involve an absurd amount of worry and rush.

In fact, it was such a nice break that I even forgot to obsessively check the studio email and voicemail for a whole two days. Can’t remember that last time that’s happened. I didn’t even remember the messages until we were in the car, probably somewhere in Indiana. I had spent the bulk of the ride staring out the window at the flat farmlands of the midwest and singing (very badly) to a 70’s station we found on the radio. Scenes and voices and possibility floated in and out of my imagination; fleeting glimpses of stories and characters I had started work on earlier in the year but had all but abandoned in order to focus on other things.

And there, in the middle of the Indiana Tollway they were coming back for a visit. And it was lovely.

Now it’s Monday morning and I’m trying desperately to hold on to those imaginings, willing myself to remain in that state of bliss and calm. StoryStudio has always been my saving grace in that respect. Just being here in the studio is like being wrapped in a huge hug of artistic permission. This is the place where you’re supposed to stare off into space or ignore the ringing phone so you can keep typing.

And while the class term is winding down, I’m already looking forward to an incredibly busy Spring 2010 term with special guests visiting, a beaux arts party, author and agent panels, and the exciting first few days of a new term, when you never know who will walk in the door.

But if you see me off in the corner looking like I’m sleeping with my eyes open, don’t worry. Just enjoying the voices in my head.