There’s this sort of groggy, tired, early-morning plotting that I tend to do in the first thirty minutes of my day. It usually involves having had a very, very strange dream, and then in the haze of being roused from sleep due to my lovely alarm clock, it somehow ends up relating to something that I’m writing, or want to write. The – somewhat foggy, half-way brilliant – plotting that follows usually entails me laying face down in my pillow, talking to myself, before I realize that I might want to write that thought down before the thought runs away.
Up, out of bed (semi-reluctantly,) over to my desk. There I rummage about until I find the right notebook – because I have a notebook for everything, and I can’t just jot this brilliant idea down wherever I want, it’s got a proper place to go.
I let it sit there. I eat, organize, review the day’s to-do list. Perhaps I procrastinate a little on that video game I recently got back into. I go back to the brilliant idea. Sometimes, when I read the idea with a clear head, it’s not half as brilliant as my early-morning brain thought it was. Sometimes it’s more brilliant. Sometimes it’s stuck somewhere between complete mediocrity and the next big thing.