My writing survives off a combination of caffeine and inspiration, which is probably why I won’t make any money off it, because caffeine is overdosed and inspiration is sporadic.
I woke up with a sudden urge for water, and as I wavered in that hazy realm between sleeping and waking—my subconscious playing tug-o-war between dreamland and my mental to-do list—I recalled my boss saying to me the other day at work, “She has three heartbeats.”
It triggered the Creative Juices synapses in my brain, which started firing like Vietcong. She has three heartbeats. Oh the possibilities of that phrase! Inspiration often swoops down on me during sleep, phantomlike, and rather cruel at 4:30 in the morning.
The cogs, already REM- stimulated, need only a little caffeine to perk out of slumber city, which is how I ended up at my desk with a cup of coffee and the birds for company.
Inspiration is most malleable when the world is sleeping. The trees are a dark silhouette through the window, framed against an azure, starless sky.
The soul can rest here. The mind can open up here, unfurl like an April tulip.
The day is just dawning, and every possibility surges at my fingertips.