George Carlin famously said, "Write stoned, edit sober." He was right. When he indulged, he accessed subconscious ideas that might not bubble to the surface when he wrote. I used to blast loud music when I wrote. Not just in the background—I'm talking about full-volume, room-filling sound. Rock, jazz, ambient electronica—whatever could drown out the chaos of the outside world and, ironically, the chaos of my thoughts. It was almost like I was trying to outpace my brain, out-shout my inner critic, by enveloping myself in noise. For a long time, this method seemed to work. The music became a kind of armor, a protective layer that allowed me to slip past distractions and into a state of focus. But over time, that need changed. My process evolved. Now, I prefer silence. A quiet writing room, sunlight pouring in through the blinds, the subtle hum of life outside—these are my companions. Where I once needed a carefully curated soundtrack to enter a creative state, now I welco...