The sun is shining through the window. I can feel the first of spring’s warmth heating the glass panes. The freshly brewed coffee’s scent fills the air and I am happily taking the day off to write. I sit parked in my favorite spot, the computer on, the sun cast over me through the window. But nothing comes. The worlds won’t play nice. After an hour I give up and take my phone and sit outside on the porch. Sipping coffee there, I opened docs without a goal and choose a chapter to reread. I choose a troubling one. And in the shade of the porch with my coffee now cold, the air chilling as the sun has moved past, the words fly. Like a faucet they flow through my fingers and into the doc on my phone. The truth of this process is a hard one to swallow. I don’t control any of this. At least it feels that way today.