My pen is the pick in my mind's goldmine. For me, an idea is not real until written down. I must net my thoughts and cage them on paper. Sometimes they fly so rapidly at me I chase and grab and barely manage to secure them all. Other times I must grope around for hours to uncover a single original thought. Inspiration is not a faucet for me to twist on and drink from a flow of ideas. I'm like a child starving in Africa, sitting beneath the spicket waiting helplessly for a drop. Sometimes I can't wet my mouth for several days. But when I do, what a joy it is to write in ink what my mind thinks! Never think without a pen.