You ever wake up early—I mean, really early—and it’s like you’re still dreaming? You’re out of it. Remembering the events of such an egregiously early morning seem like peeking into another weird dimension.
Like, did I really just drive to get coffee in my PJs? I believe I mispronounced my Grande order, too, but the voice over the intercom was fuzzy.
“Yes, I’ll have the GRAND coffee.”
Why settle for less?
And while I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s been on autopilot mode (until the coffee kicks in), I wonder how many of us write that way? There comes a point for me in my fiction that the strange sensation of disconnect takes over.
Of course, to acknowledge this state while you’re in it would take you out of it like throwing freezing water on a sleeping target.
One of my favorite authors, Paulo Coehlo, has a term for this—going to his island (read his blog here).
“Writing is getting lost at sea. It’s discovering your own untold story and trying to share it with others. It’s realizing, when you show it to people you have never seen, what is in your own soul.” – The Zahir, Paulo Coehlo
Writing fiction is already a removing experience, but the sheer amount of magic in my unfolding fantasy world puts me in that state of dreaming. When I wake from it, I’m never quite sure what time of day it is.
I wish I could go to that place more often, but I don’t always find my way back through sheer trying.It takes some magic. I can only hope that through the daily routine I create my soul treads the path back to my sleeping worlds.