I want to wake up from a dream so great, so real, so captivating, that I drop everything (except for the kids breakfast) and write it down. I want to be so consumed with it that I continue writing just so I can know what happens to the people in the story. I want to get to know them, picture what they look like, and immerse myself in their world. Then I want to publish that story and become a bu-zillionaire. Right. Like that's ever gonna happen.
Instead, what I do is find myself awake at 3:47 am coming up with blog titles in my head. I actually started writing one this morning at said unholy hour. It was brilliant. It was witty and engaging. I have absolutely no idea what it was about now. O well. Maybe I'll put one of those little journals on the nightstand so I can jot stuff down in my sleep. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll have a Stephenie Meyer dream and a cascade of brilliance will flow over from my unconsciousness.
Yeah. Maybe not. I guess I'll settle for that little journal.
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