How a Piece Gets Written

The above photos document a fairly atypical example of my process, equipment, and environment — but they make me look as though my technologically au courant ass* has gone all jet set, so for now, until that is all finally true, they shall represent me.  

(The photos were taken yesterday morning, en route from Portland to the Wisconsin Dells**. This is apparently not a place where I am likely to encounter either King Charles, One Direction, or beverages which include turmeric.) 

The typical writing process — for the in-universe pieces, anyway (strip writing is its own inscrutable animal) — actually goes much more like this:

• At some point, usually between 6am and noon, I sit down, grab the first thought that pops into my head, and ask myself to which character it belongs. I like to write before the additive cacophony of the day renders my brain an unusable hive of confusion. 
• I write a florid and overlong piece in that voice, typically at great speed. Structure and purpose emerge in the telling. I enjoy this tremendously. 
• All the while, the Noises start to pile up, eventually bringing all writing to a halt. I fry an egg and cheese sandwich. The egg resembles my mind. The cheese resembles, I suppose, my hair, because it is on top of the egg.   
• Between 1-1,000 days later, I rediscover the piece, put the hot hot chili sauce on it (edit/reread it until my eyeballs turn to boba), and package it up for posting. This does indeed sometimes happen on a phone on an airplane, but typically it happens in my old yellow chair in the living room, on my laptop, which sits upon an unstained white oak panel I got at Lowe's.
• If the ghost of Blind Riley Puckett (see photos) laughs when I read the finished piece aloud, I post it. If he remains stock-still, with a thin sheen of forehead sweat and the almost imperceptible rising and falling of his chest the only evidence of his animation, I wait a few days before approaching the piece again with a refreshed perspective. 

* In truth, I could not even work in the toaster department at Best Buy.

** Where I will finally have that classic J. Crew Adirondack beach vacation. Only, I will eat a corn dog instead of getting Dirty-Danced by Patrick Swayze.