I'm sitting at my desk. All of the lights in my room are on, and the big paper lantern over my bed casts a softer glow than the overhead light. I can smell the Frosted Cranberry candle sitting near me, and it mixes with the scent of the Irish tea waiting for me to drink it. My Swell Season concert dvd is playing in the background, and Glen Hansard's strong, raspy voice makes me smile as he sings 'Say It To Me Now". My room is cold, so I've wrapped up in the maroon knit blanket that usually just sits on the end of my bed. My hands are poised over my keyboard, absorbing the warmth of the laptop. I sip from my tea, and it burns my tongue. As Glen starts to tell a story, I force myself to stop watching him and begin writing. I've created a (sort of) warm atmosphere, and as I concentrate on the Word document, I can feel my mind begin to form phrases, sentences, searching for words.
So I write.
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