A blobbidty bibbida

As someone who is sometimes cheeky enough to call himself "a writer", I feel I have to try and avoid cheap literary analysis or expression of my own experiences...lest I get caught in the fallacy of trying to fit everything I do into a grand structure.

But it's a very tricky thing to resist the implied parallel when, upon waking up this morning, not only was my head physically unblocked (hurrah, illness has at least receded) but I woke up to find myself already deeply into a writing fugue after three days of barely being able to review my script notes. A trance, a fugue, a vomiting out of ideas, call it what you will but in five minutes I'd filled several pages in my trusty green, hardback notebook with a detailed outline for an entirely new script and in the frenzied rush I'd also filled a page of my yellow "Momentum" notebook with frantic shorthand resolutions to problems I'd been trying to solve. This state continued through breakfast and the ride to work - though I'm normally up in a blink, today I still feel the sleep falling from my brain almost three hours since I awoke.

This is, I think, the kind of inspiration and rush that so many before and after me have clawed at madly, with excessive drink or drugs. I can't say either has ever brought it on for me, but if it works for others then I can certainly understand.

When I say that I woke up halfway in, this is because for the first time in a long while I vividly dreamed a story I could actually relate to people who do not have my exact memories. Usually my dreams are so tactile and rooted in memory that it would be a tremendous pain in the arse to convey them. This dream had those two qualities but had a third facet in that multiple threads and themes of childhood were present. A strange thing for me as I've been looking forward to and considering what is to come with such intensity for the past few years. I don't know yet, of course, if this story will develop into something that could be made - but I do know that I shall have to explore it further when I visit Uffington to retreat from London/Las Internet for a few days.

After Greece, that is! Yes, Old Man Money bounced me on his knee and said that I could get away with both a four day venture into Athens and a four day retreat in Uffington/Oxford. Exciting times! During my weekend stupor I was able to investigate a decent flight and hotel package that will put me along a main road which seems roughly equidistant from the Aegean sea and the core of Athens where such wonders as the Parthenon and the temple of Zeus can be found. The only decision left to make is if I should include one of the little tours in the package and how obnoxious a pair of swim shorts I should purchase.

Addendum: I was warned London would be dirty compared to Ottawa, and parts of it certainly are, but it could be worse.