By Thursday, I'm really hating the 4am routine. I sit here at my desk and drift toward the edge of sleep, pull myself back, and keep my fingers dancing over the keyboard in the hope of getting some actual work done. I mean the job I get paid for, not the writing. Unusual things happen when I get into that state of mind, though. Thoughts and images that you'd normally keep safely tucked away peek out around the edge of the door. You see things differently when you can barely see at all.
Today I started thinking (passive verb alert) about the moon. I know, writers have written everything about the moon there is to write. But I did, and I thought about the dark half of the moon that you can still see if you look hard enough. I went on with this image, found an analogy somewhere, and jotted it into my notebook. I'm always worried I'll never be able to find those little tidbits when I want them, and I'm probably right. But I know, that for everyone I catch, there's a few more behind it in the closet, waiting for their turn to peek out before I slam the door again, returning to the "respectable" side of society.
It's a writer's job, isn't it? We keep watching, listening, thinking about things for a different angle. An engineer knows that there are far more than 360 degrees on a compass. There's an infinite number of angles from which to gain a vantage point. And that's only on the x/y plane. Throw z in there, and you'll go crazy thinking about it. And there we go, crazy I mean. Insanity might be just a deeper discovery of what's true, things we're not supposed to talk about. But it's my job to talk about it.
What an odd bunch I've joined. We find ourselves thinking up unintelligible dribble (like this) then spend hours finding a way to make it intelligible, and often fail. See what happens when you don't get enough sleep? I'm sure drugs would have the same effect and I'd get more sleep, but this is cheaper.