Hypergraphia is the overwhelming urge to write, and it is a trait/malady which I have, yet lately, it’s been dropping off. I used to be constantly writing things down. My purse was full of scrawled-upon napkins and scraps of paper. I had numerous notebooks.

I’ve always argued that non-writing time can be as productive as writing time, and this was the case for me. Some of my best ideas came on walks or runs, while swimming or driving. But why did this spring dry up? A quick analysis of the before and after solved the mystery. My car radio used to be broken. I used to just run or walk the dog without accoutrements. I swam by myself. I never had a radio or television in the kitchen. So I would drive, run, walk, swim, and cook in silence, my mind dwelling in the world I’d created in that morning’s work.

But then my car radio was repaired. My daughter gave me a tape deck to use when I ran and made me tapes with energetic music. My husband started swimming with me. He put a radio in the kitchen, so I listen to NPR while I cook. I started catching up on phone calls when I walk the dog.

So, last week, I returned to the quiet. I ran without music. I walked the dog without my cell phone, kept the radio off while I was driving and cooking. Hypergraphia returned. The ideas poured out, the scraps of paper multiplied, problems in my plot solved themselves, as I completed meditative (some call them mundane) tasks. Silence can make us anxious, I think, or lonely. We are a culture that avoids it. But for the hypergraphic, silence is like the sky. It’s open and endless and waiting.