It always starts with a whisper, an overheard sentence at a coffee shop, a picture that won’t leave my mind, or a conversation that lingers like the aftertaste of an embarrassing moment. Suddenly, my notebook is open, and I’m scribbling like a literary first responder. Mornings are fueled by Gatsby-level ambition, afternoons by too much tea and self-doubt, and nights by a burst of magic. Writing, for me, isn’t just a routine but an old Hollywood love affair.