I drove through a forest of dense hardwoods, down a two-rut road to reach my destination on the peninsula’s end. The shimmering lake waters greeted me. I pictured my friends, Heather and Darryl sitting inside the cabin working away. They had arrived two hours before me, and as I drove, I felt their writing energy pulling me along the road. Spending time with friends who no longer are a fifteen-minute drive away is a precious commodity. My heart sang. After a hello break, all heads were down. I opened my computer to begin my writing process. Time is an artificial...