It’s midnight. That, for a writer, can only mean, thoughts are going to finally arrive. Twenty-three hours of a blank white page, either in my head or on my desk, and now it all starts coming to me.
Only, I want to sleep. My mind can be free from its judgmental self. A dream doesn’t stop in the middle and think, “Is this good enough for my body to experience?” No, it just does, and it just unfolds.
Writing can be the same way. For me, it arrives after midnight, most likely, because when I lay down to go to bed, that’s when the thoughts start (and keep coming). They don’t want to stop, even though, when I wake up at 6 am the next morning (or later that same morning, actually), I will feel like I am dragging a 50-gallon bucket of water on each arm.
Please, someone, find a way to record dreams. And, if it’s any bit of a chance, to be able to edit them… for clarity. No writer would ever edit out a nightmare. Would we?