Author, who are you?

When you read literature, of any kind, once the story has ended, and you have put the book down and you casually cast a glance at that small black and white picture of the writer on the back cover of the book, and you notice that this writer was just as much a person as you are, you are sometimes stirred to realise that this same person like you, had so much story to tell! For me, the greatest curiosity is always about when in the day did the author find the time to write.....I figure its my own quest at prioritizing my time, that must spark such queries, but I think its more than just that. I have this great desire to somehow plant myself, ghost-like---invisible, behind the author as s/he writes away on white sheets of paper, or pecks away on that overused keyboard. I want to examine the surroundings of the author, those stray empty cups of coffee/tea/water, those dust-lined book shelves, those wilting/blooming potted indoor plants, and perhaps a small bound planner beckoning the author about upcoming engagements and errands. Navigating through the circadian rhythm, and creating stories or penning memories, this author is just as much a human as I am, and I like to have lived a life in the day of....