I’m not sure what it is, but so often it seems that the second I put out my light and turn over to go to sleep, my brain begins to race with ideas and new suppositions to the extent that I have to sit back up, put the light on, and grab a pen and some paper. If I don’t write down these ‘fabulous’ ideas right away… in the morning I will have forgotten it all.

Last week, when I looked at one note I’d made, all it said was ‘Michael’.

???

What, or who is Michael? WHY is Michael? None of the projects I’m working on has anyone called Michael in it.

(Note to self: why so antagonistic towards the name Michael?)

It’s not a perfect system, but at least I get a few things off my mind.
Sometimes I get a whole scene, or a nice partial scene flash into my sleep-deprived brain out of the ether. Then, I’m always very glad I wrote it down, even if it was 4.25am.

Here are a couple of things I had to get up to write recently:

Eileen Dover was never happy with the way her name made people laugh. Then she met Ben, and fell hopelessly in love. They soon got married, they were so besotted with one another, desperate to spend their whole lives together.
But when as the vicar congratulated them on being husband and wife, giggles could be heard breaking out all around the church.
‘Please congratulate Mr Ben Dout and his lovely new wife, Mrs Eileen Dout.’

Can you tell I’ve been reading P G Wodehouse?
Also:

How I wish
Inspiration
Would strike
A little more
Predictably.
And not out of
Nowhere at
4am.

Also these two notes, for a story as yet unwritten, but I can already begin to see how useful they could be:

Add in Sheena Sanderson, 43, a widow, sweet, nervous, shy. This is her first holiday overseas after losing her husband the year before. Pair her with Tommy.

Charles says to Bettina: ‘I hear you’ve been cast in a new production of Romeo and Juliet?’
There are nods all around and everyone looks impressed.
Bettina replies: ‘That’s right. Rehearsals begin in September.’
With a sarcastic laugh Charles continues: ‘From what I hear you’ve landed the part of Juliet’s old nurse.’
Malcolm sniggers, as does George Kirkwood. Bettina is offended, annoyed. While she’s still thinking up a suitable retort, Charles says,
‘Good thing they’re not putting on MacBeth. You’d have been cast as one of the old hags. I mean, witches!’
Bettina gets up, throws her wine in his face, and marches out, slamming the door.

It’s just a little scene, but will work nicely with what I have already started working on. So sometimes, even the crazy brain-chatter you get in the middle of the night works out can be perfect for what something you have in mind.

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