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I came up to the office to write a quick blog, and go to bed. But I had this idea how to fix the scene that had alluded me all day. I was just going to make a few notes; honest. That was an hour and a half ago. Ten pages ago. A finished chapter, ago. Jon’s used to it by now. In fact, when I go back over to the main part of the house, he’ll know exactly what delayed me. He knows by now that there is no such thing as an innocent trip to my office. My imagination is always ready to ambush me. Sometimes on the computer, sometimes in the middle of the night with a frantic search for paper and pen by the bedside. That’s why I keep a notebook and pen on my side of the bed at all times. It helps my spouse be able to sleep through those nocturnal inspirations. I’m off to bed for real this time. I mean it. Besides, I’ve got my ten pages, I can go to bed with a clear conscience.