There is a door at the end of the hall in my mind palace. It is old, scarred and dark stained wood, and heavy. The hinges creak when you push it open. It opens into a dimly lit bar, good drinks, no smoke, the soft murmur of muses chatting. You walk the #gauntlet of tables and take a seat on a stool. The barkeep tonight has a kind expression and a listening ear... come to think of it, the muses all seem ready to listen, too. This is where plots are born.

#wss366 #amwriting