I rarely remember my dreams when I wake up. This morning, I woke up with a fully formed novel in my head. I actually started typing notes while the coffee was brewing. With each note, my excitement grew; could it really be this easy? Without thought, I had a beginning a middle and a wham-bam ending. I knew who the characters were, if not their names. Subplots flashed across synapses faster than I could get them written down.
"Genius!, I'm a fucking genius", I thought.
As the first cup of coffee thinned the fog, clarity took hold. Euphoria waned.
Ken Follett may have written this already.
Fuck coffee and fuck Ken Follett.
Note to subconscious: If you're going to plagiarize and convince yourself you thought of it first, I'd really rather have you skew toward Terry Pratcett. Your cooperation would be appreciated.