You know how some people have to clean their entire kitchen / office / living room / patio / house / dog house / bird house / neighbor’s house before they will finally just sit down and start doing their creative work?
I’m not one of those people. (Nor do these people ever seem to live next door to me, proving that no good will ever come of this kind of neurosis.)
I can write with a messy kitchen / teetering piles of papers / tipping stacks of half-read books / vases full of but-they’re-so-arty-though dead flowers / unwashed dishes (… you guys can’t actually see me, right?) doing their unkempt thing all around me.
I can write through the Apocalypse. (Done it, actually – see how that turned out here. Spoiler alert.)