Thoughtkiller

I have been having more trouble falling asleep, and it also happens that bedtime is one of those times when the writer-brain sometimes becomes wonderfully (or perniciously) fertile. I refuse to follow many authors' advice to have a notebook by the bed, or to insist upon constantly interrupting my day (or night) (or, you know, actual human interactive *people*) jotting down my precious, precious inspirations.

I've lost countless thousands of inspirations in my lifetime, and have found they don't desert me if they're *genuinely* any good. The good ones recur, because they have staying power and some sort of relevance. They tickle you back. And, if you're canny and care enough, you can train them to do so if they really do matter. You can make your brain an open space for thought, and thought won't actually desert you if it's worthwhile.

And, if they're not ... ? Well. Ideas, and good turns of phrase, are not actual offspring. It's no sin if some of them just die, and I'm not a poor steward of my talents for letting them do so. And it's certainly nothing to cry about.

Like people you've lost touch with - sometimes, great "bits" are more a matter of their context than their content. Some people you just love to pieces at twenty-one don't fit your life and tastes anymore when you're forty-two. There is no sin in acknowledging, accepting that. And there's no sin in losing the mental thread of some story or concept or clever phrasing you have in your head as it swims across the pillow, once the sun has come up on you again. Sometimes, that incandescent brilliance is actually dimmed by the daylight. If not outright embarrassed in it ...



All this reminds me of an idea I've been having, and thinking about blogging about.

I think this is just the note to log out on. To come back for a post when I'm actually fresh and awake.

After all. It came back to me. I can do it the same honor.

G'night, everybody.