I wrote in the shower. My mother gave me a chalkboard that sat above the shower head. Only I couldn’t reach it until I was fourteen. “Think how inspired you’ll be when you can reach it.”
Chasing chalk bits before they got caught in the drain plug was challenging but the solution worked until college when they laughed at my chalkboard when I took a shower in the dorm. Had I been a twelve-year olf physics prodigy they might have let me off the hook. But I was an eighteen-year-old stoner would be writer.
I picked up the practice again until my marriage. Carol said it was too hard to clean the Sharpie ink from the tiles, and I used up the hot water from our crappy heater in six paragraphs.
She got mad when I woke up in the middle of the night, turned on the lights, looked for a pen and paper, and started writing.
Now I have an iPad and iPhone, but inspiration moved to other, younger writers who don’t fear getting wet while they write.