I'm sitting at my laptop because of a dream, and the familiar thought, "Write this down or you'll be sorry." So many times I've convinced myself I'll remember. I stare at the ceiling and try to imprint some idea or image into my brain. Hours later all I'll actually remember is that there was something I was supposed to remember. Something big.
It's warm in bed, and cozy. Surely I can keep a thought in my head for another hour...
You'd think I'd learn and keep a notebook by the pillow. Nope. All I have next to me are a stack of how-to write books, a clock set for the wrong time, and a pile of dirty clothes.
I know there are theories and anecdotes about the origin of ideas. Since it's so much fun to speculate, I'll add mine.
I think the idea layer is just another slice in the strata we aren't equipped to see. Like it's a great thin ocean of connections and wave-like energy, and you can either fall in or take a dip. I can't decide if the layer is just above our heads or is only accessible through the synaptic firings of our brain.
I imagine the layer is a swarm of blue with zig-zag bursts of white threading though it.
Either way, I've always thought dropping into the place From Whence Ideas Come was like swimming. The surface might be rough, but once you go deep the water is comfortable and calm, and you feel pressure in your ears.
I guess if I were to follow that analogy to death (and mix my metaphors): creative types develop idea gills, and work to upgrade their story sticks to trap the bigger ideas swimming free. But we all fish in the same pond.
Ha. Welcome to what I actually think about when you ask me what I'm thinking about.
By the by. This was not the idea that got me out of bed this morning.