Midnight Spell

I haven't slept a full night in months. I can't seem to stay in bed for more than a few hours. But the less I sleep, the more I paint. It's like when I'm fatigued, hungry, sweaty, and my shoulder is killing me—that's when the ideas choose to come, and I don't censor them. Everything silly is not silly anymore. And your brain wants to go to sleep and it’s eager to dream, but you don’t let it, so it starts dreaming while awake. That’s the secret. That’s the midnight spell. I could go to bed at any moment, but I wouldn’t dare.

Ideas don't come back; once the door is closed it’s closed forever. You write them down, and the next day, you read the words, but they are dry, empty. I used to keep a notebook by my bed, and I remember the frustration of waking up to what could have been a good idea now lost forever.

Stay up. Paint the picture. Write the book.