It occurred to me that many bloggers have some sort of post referring to insomnia, whether directly or indirectly.
Clearly, it is not only poverty which accompanies the love of writing, but there is also a definite, intrinsic link to lack of sleep.
Perhaps it is concern about the origin of the next paycheck that keeps these writers up, intently pouring their souls out through pen and paper.
Or, perhaps, there is an unshakable muse that refuses to allow sleep to come to one, unless they have effectively written down the inspiration.
Then, and only then, once it has been immortalized in line or verse, will it release its hold on the helpless writer, and allow sleep to wrap its tender arms around them.
The mind is a funny thing, isn't it?
There will be nights where I will become possessed by an idea.
This idea, this muse, this thought will so powerfully affect me that I cannot sleep. My mind becomes something more than just a tool, it becomes a personality of its own. It obstinately refuses to shut down until the idea spills out of the tip of a pen, and stains the pure white paper black.
Much like a domineering mother, a controlling significant other, or the urge a junkie must feel when pursuing their next fix; so becomes the hand of the writer at the mercy of the mind.
When the inspiration is, in fact, finally out of the head and manifested in the physical world, only then can one find solace in the sanctuary of sleep.
So here is to insomnia, a subtle yet powerful master.
To the sleepless nights for starving writers.
To the masters of verse, the English majors, who wield a powerful command of the beautiful and ever expansive English language.
To those who write stories in the dark of night, to share with the world at dawn...
This is my humble Ode to Insomnia.