Across my multiple online profiles, I’ve made mention of the fact that I’m a huge fan of the James Bond films. I’ve seen all of them – some upwards of 200 times – and can quote them extensively. Thankfully, my husband shares my enthusiasm, or things could get a little weird around here.

As I sat down to do some writing this evening, I had every intention of knocking out at least a couple thousand words and scribbling down all that delightful naughtiness in perfect, measured prose.

Well, that didn’t happen. Sure, I started writing, but quickly realized that the fruits of my efforts were subpar at best. And for whatever reason, Goldfinger – Sean Connery’s third outing as Bond – came to mind. Specifically, the Miami Beach poolside scene in which Bond dons a baby blue terrycloth romper. Awful. Truly awful. A major low point for Bond’s wardrobe.

Then it dawned on me that that terrycloth romper could serve as a useful – albeit esoteric – metaphor for writing. Bear with me on this one. Imagine that the perfect distilled essence of your story is Bond, super spy extraordinaire. Unimpeachably cool. Sexy. Driven. Now, the words you use to communicate that perfect story can be sublimely inspired or ridiculously awful. Either way, write them down. Because while sometimes Bond ends up in the crappy terrycloth romper, more often than not, he’s suited up, sexier than hell, and taking the world by storm.

So yeah, today was a terrycloth romper kind of day. But tomorrow? Tomorrow promises to be buttoned down deliciousness…making sure the collars and cuffs match, of course.