There’s a rustle overhead. I look toward the ceiling and call to my husband. “She’s moving!”

Outside, he watches the hole that’s been gnawed in the soffit until a gray, whiskered face appears and his nemesis of the past week stares back at him. “I see it!” he yells, and then waits till she scampers onto a nearby overhanging limb. “She’s out.” He quickly boards up the hole. “Hah!” he says with a triumphant smirk. “You’re not getting back in there.”

Minutes later, back in the house there’s a familiar shuffling overhead. “Uh, honey, I hear something.”

“What?”

“It’s in the attic.”

“What’s in the attic?”

My husband enters from the back porch and we listen, our eyes turning towards the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He drops the hammer and nails and heads upstairs, crawling on his belly through spider webs and hairy insulation. “There’s babies,” he yells, “five baby squirrels in the eaves, but I can’t reach them.” By now, Mamma squirrel, who has had her reentry route boarded up by the mean man with the scowl, sits on the rooftop shrieking. I didn’t know squirrels could make a sound like that.

Several hours and failed attempts at baby squirrel extraction later, the air is still ringing with the heartbreaking cry of the wailing squirrel. Finally, we resort to Plan B (or is it D, E or F?). My husband pulls out a drywall saw and hacks a hole in the ceiling. Five bushy-tailed squirrels drop to the floor and glide across the tiles like hail on a cold windshield. We use laundry baskets to coral the scurrying little rodents out the door, but not before their haphazard romp through my kitchen. When the fur settles, I sit at my computer. My writing time has evaporated into a cloud of silver fur and lemon-scented disinfectant but squirrels in the attic will not be today’s excuse for not writing. In fact, they’re one of the reasons that I must write.

Six unlikely reasons why I must write:

The ideas fall in my lap. On the days when the most exciting thing I do is drink caffeinated soda, I sit down and pump out stories of adventure and heartache, misery and triumph. With the high drama of squirrels in the attic I should be able to infuse some of the excitement into my characters and their plots. Don’t give yourself reasons not to write. Don’t even write despite the flat tire, the missed school bus or the burnt roast. Write because of them. Catch the excitement, anger, despair while you’re still feeling the adrenaline rush.

I’m an obstacle course champion. Of sorts. You can be too, by using the obstacle that you think is keeping you from writing and turning it into a prompt. As a homeschooling mom, when my high-school-aged-daughter and I hit a brick wall during Algebra II and I felt like there was no way in this world that we would ever get through it, it was the catalyst for a humorous essay on the homeschooling life titled “The Little Green Meadow, and Other Alternate Realities that Keep Us Sane.” When I got a really bad haircut, instead of sitting around pouting (okay, I did a little of that) I wrote a piece on overcoming a traumatic trip to the salon, and when our attic rained down baby squirrels, I had the inspiration for this article.

Wish Fulfillment. Nearing burnout after years of caring for my parents, I decided I needed to work less in order to manage all of my care giving responsibilities. To offset the financial hit our family would take, I took up coupon shopping. I spent hours doing the initial research, hunting high and lo for helpful online advice and resources. In the end, not only was I saving hundreds of dollars, but I also had the knowledge to write the article I wish I had access to when I was starting out.

I have issues. Control issues. Now that our children are older, my husband and I enjoy dining out every now and again. Recently we were at a restaurant where the kids at the table next to ours were more animated than Saturday morning television with more volume than an eighties hairdo. When my pointed glares in their direction failed to produce the desired results, I decided to stop fuming and start scribbling. I pulled out my writer’s notebook and jotted down some great, authentic kid dialogue. Once I recognized the value in the moment it was as decadent as sitting with my ear to a closed door, only better, because I had all the visuals to go with it. Oh yeah, and I was in control again.

Real life, only better. Because you can spin it anyway you want. When my neighbor sent her young son over to gift us with a homemade bottle of root beer I untwisted the cap and unleashed a hissing, spurting, volcano of soda pop all over my ceiling. I pulled out the stepladder and started scrubbing caramel-colored stains from the paint, but instead of hitting the roof I hit the keyboard with a fresh new idea about the antics of two mischievous kids.

Stop. Rewind. Repeat. Some moments in life are too good to experience only once. When my lumbering golden retriever dragged me into the vet’s office and warmed up to every creature on the premises, four legged and otherwise I was forced to socialize. A real beauty, everyone wanted to know all about her. She was the buzz of the waiting room and a quick favorite with the receptionist. After our visit with the doctor we headed to the desk to check out. Sandy, relaxed and ready to head home, gave one of those full-bodied shakes that let you know why canines never need to visit a chiropractor–and a thick, gooey string of slobber let loose from her mouth and went flying through the air. We all watched in slow-motion horror as it landed right in the receptionist’s cleavage. Yeah. I know. That story has to be told, and there’s a dog-lovers magazine out there just waiting for me to sub it to them.

Life is overwhelming. Everyone’s busy. There aren’t enough hours in the day. We’ve all been there, but if you’re waiting for life to calm down so you can find time to write, you’ll never find time to write. When life throws something unexpected your way, don’t duck. Catch it. Hold on tight. And when it’s time to toss it back, put a new spin on it. That’s what editors are looking for.