Some say that real ideas feel like they arrive by magic. Others point to notebooks and deadlines and a fear of failure. The very confident can't be bothered to ponder such things. But where do ideas come from? Are they born like babies? Created with love, shaped by your DNA, filled with hopes, and pushed out with great force? Or do they already exist, hidden in everything? Tiny points of inception, waiting to be discovered under beds. In music. Tucket between layers of cake. Stuck to the bottom of your shoe, holding you in place until you recognize it.