“Breathe” — that’s what people were always telling her. “Just breathe.” Remembering was harder than it sounded. Maybe if she put it into her calendar …
Dinner — whatever. She’d make pasta. Stirring the marinara with one hand, holding a manuscript in the other, she let out a deep breath she’d been holding.
Next thing she knew, she was on the floor, still holding the spoon. She’d forgotten to take in air.
For some of us, inspiration doesn’t come naturally.