This week while I was driving and trying to entertain myself I decided that if I were to be a writer I’d want to have a wonderful place to write in. What would it look like? I know it certainly wouldn’t be an old-fashioned typewriter setting atop a doghouse ala Snoopy in the Peanuts cartoons. It would probably have a nice state of the art computer that I could never learn to fully use, and lots of shelves to hold all the research books, whose soul purpose would be to sit there and make me look scholarly and to collect dust. Of course I’d have to have a nice polished desk, and plenty of office supplies; reams of paper, highlighters in all colors, pens, pencils, and a rainbow of sticky notes in all shapes and sizes! Now, I’d be officially a writer wouldn’t I? What, you mean in order to be a writer I have to have a story idea and the talent to extend it into several hundred pages that are written coherently and would attract the attention of some great literary agent or publisher and actually get my story to you my overeager fans. So now you know…