There was a period of intense creativity when I was coming up with ideas and filing them away, sorting through the universe of possible stories I could write. Dog, how I loved that! It was the biggest free-for-all imaginable. I could write about anything. I get "chill bumps" (as I heard a feller say the other day) just thinking about it.
It was the grandest time I ever had -- except for the actual writing of the books. But these two activities aren't in the same ballpark. Writing a book is constrained, in that you know the story and your job is to follow (or change) your plan. As an activity, it has borders all around it.
But the idea stage, when I lived in that breathtakingly huge arena of possible topics, was wild. How I miss it. The air was fresher there. It really was.
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