Most people in creative fields have stock in inspiration. We're fond of that "ah-ha!" moment of epiphany, we carefully cradle our everyday creative spark, we pan for ideas the way prospectors sought gold.
Of course, you can never predict when an idea might strike. Or how many ideas will strike in a given time period (or how few). You never know if a story thread will peter out or hit paydirt. You never know when your brilliant idea will be tarnished by the doubt of others. There are times for everybody, I'm sure, when they share a kernel of a thought that they're quite excited about with somebody, only to be diminished when they don't see that same joy in the other person's face.
I had a particularly rich vein of ideas when I was sick recently. I also frequently get them from dreams of the non-fevered variety. I get them from the news. I get them from some outside stimuli striking lightning in my brain stew. Or whatever. A muse? Maybe. I would have thought I'm too antisocial for one.
The point being, sometimes ideas seem like gifts.
I'm bad at writing thank you notes, but I wish I knew who to send this one to.
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