I ponder that phrase as I sit here typing, stuffed between a plastic snowman and several odd wicker deer. They are in a holding pattern until they can be carefully positioned on our lawn in the next few days.
They are creepy.
A writer's creativity is not dependent on where it's allowed to flow. It doesn't care if your typing on a computer that was obsolete five years ago, or an old fashioned typewriter, or even scribbling in a notepad that you stole from your son's school supplies.
The words will come even if your partially sitting on a plastic wreath and you swear you heard a strange rustling in the endless piles of garland.
A little more space would be nice.
I boldly go where no one has gone before.
Ok, well that's not really true but it sounds great.