Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, the vestiges of some dream still dancing around in your sleep-fogged brain, and think, "Wow! That would be a great story! Brilliant!" And you reach for something write it all down so you won't forget it in the bright morning sunlight.
Of course, what appears a brilliant plot line in the soft moonlight while you're still drugged with sleep often strikes you as quite psychotic in the harsh light of day once you've consumed the requisite amount of caffeine to function throughout the day, and then you realize that if you wrote THAT, people would think you're crazier than a shit house rat.
Yeah, that happened to me again last night, or rather this morning. I woke up around 3 a.m., a circumstance that really is not all that unusual, and I felt that the Muse had been visiting me in my dreams. I jotted down a few phrases, fragments from my nighttime reveries. I'm looking at them now and thinking, "I need to be committed to an institution for the terminally insane."
Still, I might write something about it for the hell of it, so if you see a story about an Incan Monkey God, the involvement of the Spanish Inquisition (NOBODY expects it, you know!), lost ancient language tablets, the mythic city of El Dorado (language is gold?), and a place called Demon Island City, then you know that my insanity has been purged.
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