Who knows exactly where stories come from? Sometimes, details and characterization come so boldly through my imagination, that I feel as if I'm eavesdropping telepathically on unsuspecting souls in some other part of the world. Often, as I'm writing a story, day to day life presents me with ideas. Sometimes I read poetry and fiction that I love for inspiration. The more whimsical, the better. It gives my inner muse permission to play. Other times, I drink tea and pray. It always comes. Sometimes ideas come in great tidal waves I can barely get down. The stories seem to chose me. What a privilege.