Right around five this morning, some animals decided to throw a screaming, raging, howling party in my backyard . . . with serious emphasis on the screaming and howling.
My dogs must have thought it was a great party, because they both joined in the howling. For maximum fun, they added some of their own barking and yelping, so I would wake up, see what I was missing, and let them run out there to join in the fun.
Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen, so I got up, calmed them down, and hopped back into my nice warm bed to sleep for another three hours.
Yeah. That wasn’t going to happen either. As soon as my head hit my pillow, I had the following conversation:
My brain: Hey, are we awake?
Me: We were, but now we’re going back to sleep.
My brain: Dude! We’re totally awake! Awesome! Weee!
Me: Quiet, you. I’m going back to sleep.
My brain: Okay, but before you go back to sleep, listen to me for a minute. While you were sleeping, I totally came up with this idea for the manga script you’re supposed to be writing.
Me: I’m very proud of you. Let’s talk about it in a few hours. After I wake up for real.
My brain: But it’s so cool! Okay, here’s what happens . . .
Me: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!
My brain: It’s due in 11 days, dude. I think you should just get up and start writing.
Me: It’s . . . [look at the clock] 5:13 in the morning, dude! It’s still dark.
My brain: Okay. If you really want to sleep, go ahead. I’ll be here when you wake up.
Me: Thank you.
30 seconds later . . .
My brain: ‘”I’m a cowboy! On a steel horse I ride! I’m wanted (wanted!) Dead or alive! Bow wow wow woooowwwwww.”
Me: What. Are. You. Doing.
My brain: I sing to myself when I can’t sleep.
Me: But . . . Bon Jovi? Really?
My brain: Hey, maybe you should play less Rock Band.
Me: I hate you.
My brain: As long as you’re awake, why don’t you get out of bed and write down this awesome story idea I have? It’ll be fun!
Me: I’m going to kill you with so much Arrogant Bastard tonight.
My brain: Yay! Everyone wins!
I got out of bed. The house was cold and dark, and my Macbook’s screen hurt my eyes when I woke it up, but I sat down at the dining room table, and worked on my script for the next four hours.
This is how I know I’m a writer.
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Yep, only I get mine as I’m falling asleep.
Brain, “Steve, you still awake, I’ve got this wicked line for a story…”
“Wait, don’t tell me, I’ve gotta get to sleep. Work is early tomorrow.”
“No, really, wicked line, here it is…”
“DON’T!”
The brain says the line. “No, wait, here, this is better,” the brain rewrites on the fly.
“Damn, that is good,” I say, turning on the light, grabbing paper and pen and scribbling it down. “Any more?”
“Sure,” dictates out a paragraph.
“Uh hunh, that’s pretty good. That replaces 500 words of waffling with 35 words of concise tight prose. Any more?”
“Nah, that’s it. I guess.”
“Good,” I say and turn off the light, thank the Muses and start back to sleep.
“Oh, hey, remember when I said I didn’t have any more. Uh, yeah, I lied. Here’s this next cool part.”
And so it goes for about a half hour. Light on, scribble, light off, light back on, scribble, rinse, repeat.
Wil,
Arrogant Bastard and Bon Jovi in the same post? Totally awesome. To bad I can’t get some of the other brews. I understand Oaked Bastard is really good.
Had something like that happen to me this summer, only I was dreaming. I wanted desperately to go into some sort of deeper sleep, so to tire myself, I repeatedly leapt a few stories to read the words on top of some buildings. I couldn’t read the words, which frustrated me, so I went on a walk and encountered my dad. We made plans to go to some sort of geekcon that day, in which I anticipated hearing you speak.
And yes, I do dream in xkcd.
They’re Wheaton and his brain
Wheaton and his brain
One is a genius
The other’s insane
(Guess who?)
They’re old gamer geeks
Play Rock Band just like freaks
They’re Wheaton, Wheaton and his brain, brain, brain, brain [fade away]
writers and dictators (but not of that kind)
Some weeks ago I read an entertaining post on Wil Wheaton’s1 blog, and the way he closed it up, with a definite “This is how I know I’m a writer”, left me pondering…Hum… What about me? Am I… a writer?…