A couple of years ago I began writing a novel and at this rate, I will never be able to complete it. It made me cringe---it didn't seem to have a plot...it was juvenile and had the makings of what would be a Sweet Valley High reprise. You never know, James Rollins was a veterinarian before he became this incredible sci-fi novelist.
Earlier this morning whilst at a meeting, the topic of waking up in the middle of the night with an active mind was brought up. I used to be creative in those moments---but lately I've been comatosed intermittently.
Ah yes Shakespeare, to sleep...to sleep perchance to a dream. Aye, there's the rub for in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
Labels: introspection reality