|Wind Song by Creating-Insanity under a CC 3.0 licence|
When I wake at this hour and my body is behaving itself occasionally I find myself in the delicious zone that writers and creatives and sportspeople talk about, the zone of flow. Almost an otherworldly feeling, like you've still got one foot half in the dreamspace, the perfect place where the space between your subconscious and conscious feels thinner, and images flow up as creative prompts.
Which is exactly what happened to me the other day. I was lying in bed, feeling cosy and warm and happy that I could go back to sleep for several more hours, but then while I was lying there waiting for sleep to roll in like the tide I kept getting sentences in my head that I liked very much, and then a picture of a foggy nighttime landscape with gum trees and fog. And so what the hell, I sat up and started writing a short story that rolled out from the image I saw.
And I kept writing and kept writing until I had for all intents and purposes finished writing an 1800 word story. It felt finished, in the way that fiction and poetry often seems to come out of me, as if it's pretty much fully-formed and I just need to sit with it for a day or two, and then edit and rework and shape it, adding bits here and deleting bits there. When this happens it feels like blessing, and I feel very fortunate to be able to have this sort of experience that comes out of nowhere seemingly unbidden. Makes my innards where all this happens feel as mysterious and sexy to me as wintertime when the fog rolls in.
Creativity is tiring, especially with limited energy. I think if I was healthier this sort of thing would happen more often. But as it goes, I welcome it when it happens.
Don't know if the story is any good or not, but that's another story entirely :)