Stupid Writer Brain

I fell asleep quickly last night, which is a good thing, especially considering how erratic my sleep schedule has been lately. So here I am, merrily sleeping away, when suddenly my book finally figures out how it all ends. Which is nice, except it woke me up at some point after 1 a.m. to tell me.

Writer Brain: "Michael! Michael get up! I know what's going to happen!

Writer: "Whazit? miziwit?"

Writer Brain: "I know how the book ends. Getupgetupgetup right nownownow!"

Writer: (looks at alarm clock) "What?"

Writer Brain: "GET UP AND WRITE THIS DOWN!"

Writer: "Okay, I'm up. What's the big deal."

Writer Brain then proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes explaining to me how the rest of the novel is going to go, chattering away like an excitable squirrel on speed. Finally the hapless writer gets up, grabs his notepad and pen, and stumbles out to the living room.

Writer Brain: "We should just fire up the computer and get to work!"

Writer: (Scribbling away furiously on his notepad) "In the morning."

Writer Brain: "No! We should get this down right now while it's fresh!"

Writer: "No. That way lies the road to disaster. I can do it in the morning from my notes, thank you."

Writer Brain: "What could go wrong?"

Writer: "It's two in the morning, and I've had two hours of sleep. Everything could go wrong."

Writer Brain: "It will be fine. Come on, let's just boot the laptop up and write a few paragraphs."

Writer: "And when the books end with an incident involving a donkey, a dwarf, a coed, and Interpol, then what?"

Writer Brain: (meekly) "We rewrite?"

Writer: "I'm going back to bed. Talk to me in the morning."


And now, I really need to get to work.

Peace, Love, Spanish Omelets,

Michael

Stupid Writer Brain

I fell asleep quickly last night, which is a good thing, especially considering how erratic my sleep schedule has been lately. So here I am, merrily sleeping away, when suddenly my book finally figures out how it all ends. Which is nice, except it woke me up at some point after 1 a.m. to tell me.

Writer Brain: "Michael! Michael get up! I know what's going to happen!

Writer: "Whazit? miziwit?"

Writer Brain: "I know how the book ends. Getupgetupgetup right nownownow!"

Writer: (looks at alarm clock) "What?"

Writer Brain: "GET UP AND WRITE THIS DOWN!"

Writer: "Okay, I'm up. What's the big deal."

Writer Brain then proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes explaining to me how the rest of the novel is going to go, chattering away like an excitable squirrel on speed. Finally the hapless writer gets up, grabs his notepad and pen, and stumbles out to the living room.

Writer Brain: "We should just fire up the computer and get to work!"

Writer: (Scribbling away furiously on his notepad) "In the morning."

Writer Brain: "No! We should get this down right now while it's fresh!"

Writer: "No. That way lies the road to disaster. I can do it in the morning from my notes, thank you."

Writer Brain: "What could go wrong?"

Writer: "It's two in the morning, and I've had two hours of sleep. Everything could go wrong."

Writer Brain: "It will be fine. Come on, let's just boot the laptop up and write a few paragraphs."

Writer: "And when the books end with an incident involving a donkey, a dwarf, a coed, and Interpol, then what?"

Writer Brain: (meekly) "We rewrite?"

Writer: "I'm going back to bed. Talk to me in the morning."


And now, I really need to get to work.

Peace, Love, Spanish Omelets,

Michael