The Journey of SILVER BROWN

The Muse Kissed My Brain Last Week

On an otherwise typical Thursday night, the sandman flooded my dreams with images of a manuscript that was half novel and half comic book. Every other chapter was written in comic book form, and people would wonder at the marvel of it. I’m not sure if I would ever do a writing project like that myself, but it’s an interesting concept to ponder at least.

Can’t remember what the hell it was about. The plot was completely forgotten as soon as I checked the notifications on my phone upon waking. All I remember is the main character was a fish-out-of-water everyman in the tradition of Philip J. Fry, and its world was populated by a race of diminutive humanoids who communicated entirely in Shakespearean sonnet. Vaguely resembling the creature depicted in the image below, but with a penchant for wearing stately phallic headdresses.


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

Behind The Wall Of Sleep

Due to its potency, and the bevy of perils that could possibly be wrought from its misuse, methinks written prose should ideally be allowed time to breathe prior to consumption. Like a bottle of wine. Or this guy’s brain. Take your pick.


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If you can’t watch a movie like this and sleep like a baby on the same night, you’ll probably find the rest of this blog post completely useless.

Specifically, it is foolhardy to publicize a written work on the same day it was composed. You have to sleep on it at least once before entertaining any vague notion of letting somebody else read it. At the (very unfortunate) risk of sounding like your mama, a good night’s rest assists both the body and the mind to purge themselves of waste. Which is kind of important. After a good mindshitting, you’re a new (wo)man. You can approach your work with a clearer conscience. This is something my crazy boss never understood. The one with the magna cum laude degree from Harvard who went insane and stabbed a dude. Sleep was taboo to her. She could never be bothered to excrete her own mindshit because she was too busy running the world, and eventually found herself with a massive pulsating backlog of that ectoplasmic goop which ruptured all over the news.

The work itself likewise needs time to sit and rest periodically. Sometimes the best thing to do with a project is put it off to the side and not fuck with it for a while. Just let it age, like Kentucky bourbon. A quote that’s stuck with me for many years is that enlightenment is like a cat. If you chase after it, it will run from you. But if you remain still and free your mind of expectations, the cat will jump right into your lap. It’s good that I can just allow the cats to come to me now, after many years of working for somebody who was always insistent on chasing them (and extremely hostile towards any suggestion that chasing them might not be the best way to go). One of those cats just told me to leak more information about the nature of the Environment in the chapter I’m editing now. But not too much.