To copy/paste from a post I once made at 5/8:
I sometimes imagine a room in Steven Wilson's house where he goes to write music. I think of it as The Steven Wilson Room. There are no windows in this room, and it's lit by only one dim bulb. He intentionally keeps this room damp, moldy, dark and cold. On the walls are pictures of past loves and/or girls who were horrible to him; people who bullied and/or otherwise hurt him at school and beyond. He goes into this room wearing clothes that won't keep him warm, sits in an uncomfortable folding chair, dwells on all those faces, waits til he's cold all over and his fingers and toes have that numb stinging cold and he wants to cry.
Then he starts to write.