Essentially, I am always writing. Walking down a wet Paris street I am taking everything in with all of my senses.  The feast that is “Paris in the rain” will be stored inside my brain in a thousand different compartments. When I sit down to actually write, when I go searching inside the endless cubbies in my brain, I will slide open a drawer and voila, I will find just what I need, stored there weeks, months, years in the past, waiting for just the right opportunity to be useful. So no, I never feel guilty when I’m not writing because, in a way, for me, living life is writing. At least it has been until now.