I’m feeling a strong creative surge this week and writing a lot of fiction, but a head cold is draining me like a vampire leech.
So now I’m living in this bizarro state of inspired energy and a constant desire to nap. Fortunately, even my nap dreams are conjuring up strange, exciting ideas. I don’t have a fever or anything, and I’m not on anything harder than coffee. It’s just that in spite of my physical exhaustion, I seem to have tapped a good mental flow.
I try to maintain creative openness on a regular basis, so storytelling feels less like something I do at certain hours and more like something I’m always doing. Because who knows when and where the right idea will materialize? What happens if I dwell on my novel between 9 A.M. and 3 P.M. and some fantastic idea wants to appear at midnight?
It’s great when that consistent openness works, and I’m suddenly writing about things that feel emotionally electric and — in a thrilling way — incomprehensible. These might be terrible ideas I’ll need to cut from later drafts but they’re worth pursuing, even when I’m sick.
So far this week:
- A talking deer corpse
- A ritual chant recorded onto an old cassette of The Carpenters’ greatest hits
- Coma milk
- The logistics of temporary suicide
- Ghost lovers seeing each other for the first time