People ask me constantly how and when I find time to write, given that six active and opinionated children with multiple and varied interests have sprouted from me. I manage somehow by writing in snatches: late at night when the entire house is in deep slumber and I have all air and space to myself; when everyone is away at school and I am left with my erstwhile companion, Fidel, napping at my heels; and when I must, when the compulsion to write is strongest, I hide out in the bathroom and lock the door, turning a deaf ear to my little barbarians stroming the gates. One gets resourceful in desperate times, when words form in the head of their own accord and tear at the flesh to escape the confines of the mind, charging onward to be written down. In moments like this, one simply steps aside and lets everything that might happen, be.
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