surfing for ideas

Sometimes writing ideas come in unlikely places like this or this.

Or the smell of ribs slow cooking in barbecue sauce in the crock pot on my kitchen counter.

The "Disney green" walls of my home office. A soy candle (smells like hot apple cider) burning on top of the bookcase to my right. A stack of New Yorkers on the floor to my left. And on the floor to my right, my dog dreaming in his sleep -- small whimpers, twitching paws, sometimes a whispered bark. He must be chasing a squirrel, or worse -- a neighborhood cat.

Emerson's been following me around from room to room today -- except the bedroom (big no-no). But the "Green Room" is his new cave of comfort. When it's time to go outside at night to sleep in his kennel, he sometimes dashes away to the Green Room -- to sprawl on the carpet or lie down under the square table-desk -- as if to say, "Can't I stay here? Not in the living room, but here? Where all the books are? Where Amy will be eventually come back?"