It has now happened to me four times. The first time was in 1992 when I was spending the weekend in a broken down, tired and old bed and breakfast on the Isle-that-dare-not-speak-it’s-name-from-embarrassment-OK-Bute-there-I-said-it, and the fourth time was last night. One minute I am dreaming deeply asleeply, and the next I am bolt upright in bed with an entire story plot simply screaming to be written down.
It is never a fully fleshed out story but is always the complete skeleton of why, how and where, and strangely enough always horror/thriller based. I think because I so often have horror/thriller dreams. Which is why I frequently sleep with a night light on. Fine. Always sleep with a night light on. I have had dreams so terrifying that when I have woken up, sweating and panicked, I immediately pretend I have died of fright so that the monster/spider/clown/possessed doll/cross dressing serial killer/bad vampire (wish it was Spike but it never is) doesn’t bother with me.
The problem is that no matter how strongly I convince myself at the time that I will remember my best selling plot in the morning, I never do! I have at least 24 pens at the side of my bed, 3 Moleskin jotters, 2 A4 Claire Fontaine pads and a block of post-it’s so large I could use it to disable any cross dressing serial killer (nothing can disable a possessed doll so just run), so I can’t really cite lack of tools. It would seem I am always disabled by fear or laziness. Oh well. Next time.