Ok, writers, here's an excuse for writing: if you're stuck in a hotel room because your flight home got cancelled, then as a writer you're never short of stuff to do.

It was the same thing for me on the plane getting here last night. Most times, I'm asleep on the plane, but I figured I might as well start a new story. Experiment a little, since for day gig purposes I'm going to be a road dog more often than I've been accustomed to. If it works, I can at least count on a few other words a day that would have otherwise been lost to the disruption.

And now that I'm here in my room, rather than just killing time flipping channels, or not giving the current novel I'm in the middle of reading the chance it deserves because I'm too brain dead to read at the moment, hey let's drop into the story.

A thousand words later, I'm looking at the result going, you know what? That's a mighty fine way to spend an hour, writing. Fun, and it beats the alternatives six ways to Sunday.

Things I need to remember: yes, it really is fun, writing. It's relaxing, it's a quiet place to be while I watch and listen and think about the wild things unfolding in front of me. And there's nothing else like it in this old world.

So that's the sitch in this here writer's life.