No thank you.
Like being arrested between one step and the next by a brilliant poppy shining out of the dead grass? That's more like it.
Maybe a strike isn't really the best way to think about it. If inspiration favors the prepared mind, it would be wise to spend more time with my hands on a keyboard. Or with fingers wrapped around a pen.
There is a certain romance, though, to the idea of being carried away by an irresistible idea. But again, it's better to have the tools in hand, just in case.
Blather, blather. It's Saturday night and I just finished work about ten minutes ago. And it's getting really late. Late for a work night. Not necessarily late for a Saturday night. I've been typing on and off for about five hours today, and I guess my mind and fingers have pretty much had enough. But I wanted to post something.
The one thing about having very few readers is that I don't always have to worry too much about coming up with deeply profound art (would that be triply redundant?). I can just ramble on until I either catch scent of a story or fall asleep.
Nope. Nothing. But by gosh, I made the effort anyway. A small something.
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