...or something like that

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Cait, and dropped a brillant idea in her path. Not her homework, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness then did the inspiration that came to her in these wee hours.

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her paper with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of fur and leather slippers, athletic pants, and a gray sweatshirt, adorned with a hood of great depths, into which she could bundle her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This hood was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her roommates, who during these periods kept their distance, merely texting smily-faces semi-occasionally to ask, with interest, Does genius burn, Cait? They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the ponytail and WMP, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew, and when despair seized the author strands were twisted and pulled, and pinned up and un-done and once again tied back. At such times the intruder silently withdrew, and not until the unruly curls were seen gaily atop the freckled brow, did anyone dare address Cait.

She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The devine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her `vortex', hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.

***i figured y'all would notice, but this is mostly Allcot's work, I just substituted my own description. I don't want to take credit for what's not mine, just sayin