I had a very surreal experience last night. I had spent the last two hours of the night writing - first, on my aforementioned project to type up the entirety of Noggin, and then on my new manuscript.
I had just gone to bed, and I was overcome with this feeling of supreme inadequacy. Like nothing I wrote would ever be as good as the books I have read and loved.
It was a very strange feeling. I've spent long enough dealing with crazy brain chemistry to be able to stop and examine my feelings, even as I was living them. Where did they come from? Why just then, as opposed to when I was actually writing? Was it my dinner, failing to agree with me? The aftermath of the sugar cookie I had eaten for dessert?
Was it whiskey? I had a whiskey sour that night. Incidentally, don't make a whiskey sour with Crown Royal Maple whiskey. Not a good idea.
I finally fell asleep, and had a night of pretty bizarre dreams - involving, as I recall it, some sort of airborne adventure in the skies of London, a food court where a bunch of literary agents hung out, and several of my coworkers.
I woke up this morning feeling fine. Not just fine, but actually, buzzing with ideas. Good ones. At least, they seem like good ones.
I don't know what to make of last night's weirdness. Perhaps everyone has those moments. But it seemed good to me to examine it.
Also, I may or may not have had no better ideas for a blog post today...