Day after day of unrelenting rain. And I’ve been sitting here in my basement office relieved that I don’t have flooding down here.
Finally, last night, the incessant rainfall…uh…cessed. Around midnight or so, the constant drumming of rain above let up. Imagine my relief.
Three in the morning as I’m struggling with a plot point on my Fantastic Four novel, I glance over and see that an entire section of the floor is wet. Water is oozing in from a section of the wall behind the television set.
Crap.
I haul out towels and mop it up. It’s still coming. I keep mopping. More water. More mopping. Finally the water stops seeping in. I sit back, watching the floor warily for some sign of continued seepage, and as I do that, the plot point clicks into my head and I figure out where the story’s going next. People wonder whence writers draw inspiration? More often than not, from desperation.
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