1. You look outside to see what the weather is like.
2. You wonder if people you don't know will care or notice that you haven't tweeted what you ate for breakfast.
3. You decide to read, and become annoyed when your interest is piqued by the mention of a Russian tradition called 'Green Week' and you aren't allowed to wiki it.
4. You watch TV and wonder if Stana Katic (Castle) is pregnant because she's wearing puffy shirts and you can't check to see if it's true. (FYI, she's not)
The other thing I did was dig out a tattered stack of coiled notebooks. I read through, oldest to most recent. There were notes for stories I've written and since published, stories half-finished and languishing in hard drive hell, ideas for stories I may never write at all, and lots of bizarre, unclassifiable stuff.
One page is entirely blank, but for the following. "I don't smoke. Well, I do…but only when I binge drink." To my knowledge I've never used that line anywhere. But hey, I still might.
I've also got notes going back five years for a novel I'm working on now. Reading those early notes reconnected me with the germ of the story. The idea in situ. Sure, the writing is wretched and I appear to be using an alien style guide for comma usage, but there's a crackling energy embedded in that sloppy scrawl. I remember the words pouring out of my brain faster than my hand could take them down.
I didn't write at all during my internet blackout, but I learned something about my creative process. Coiled notebooks are where my ideas take their first gasp of outside air, where my characters take their first steps. There are all kinds of unrefined goodies that pour out when I put pen to paper. I think I'll unplug more often.