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“I nod off after a little while. When I open my eyes again, it’s early afternoon and my room is warm. The cicadas are singing, and the wind is still rustling the trees. I stretch and turn over, and my eyes fall on my laptop. It’s been a long time since I have written [...] I walk across the floor, my bare feet feeling the sun-warmed wood under me, and I sit down. [...] I have a new vision, a new structure for the story. I’m ready to write something honest. Soon, the only sound is the clacking of my keyboard, and then that is gone too, and all I can hear are the voices in my head.”
― Laura Nowlin, If He Had Been With Me