When I was young, I loved nothing more than for a storm to blow up and the power to go out. It if was summer, the windows would be raised, increasing the sound of the thunder on the wind and if it was winter, then the warmth and ambiance of a wood-burning fire filled the room. With a well-worn and heavily used notebook and a candle in hand, I’d steal away to a corner of my home to write. I’d sit hunched over my paper and pen until at last power would be restored and I’d bemoan its presence, hurrying to capture the last vestiges of inspiration before it disappeared along with the darkness.
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Nowadays, it seems the storms that knock out the power are few and far between. Maybe they had been just as infrequent when I was a kid, but I look back on those times with childlike wonder. I also rarely write stories in any of my numerous notebooks and instead take to my computer with its ever-useful backspace button and built-in spell-check. Likewise, I don’t have the opportunity to sit down merely because the atmosphere of the moment insists on becoming my muse. I now have to awaken before the other members of my home and hole up in my closet-office with my morning coffee and sweater that I have now dubbed my writer’s sweater. You know the one, that cliché sweater worn in those movies that cast writers as the main character. Over the years, my night writing and storm writing behaviors have adapted themselves at first to the life of a working wife, then a first-time stay-at-home mom, and now a homeschooling mother of three with a flock of chickens, a half dozen cats, and two dogs who seem to require as much attention as my babies did.

But there are times when the kids insist on being early risers or I accidentally manage to sleep in, so I simply slip on headphones and let the kiddos fend for themselves until a fairly respectable time for the small humans to be up socializing. The music always seems to help whether they are in the living room behind me playing Minecraft or Animal Crossing or I am alone with only my thoughts and a once hot coffee to keep me company.
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In other words, I’ve realized to be any sort of writer I have to write and in order to do that, I have to adjust to my current situation and surroundings. Sometimes they may evolve over years and sometimes they may change from day to day. But no matter what, I have words and stories that insist on being written, insist on being told.