Or how is it possible to have inspiration and not write a single word on my .docx document containing the Lestrade/Sherlock on which I'm supposed to be working on.
Last night I had the biggest inspiration! And since it was so late, I didn't want to turn the netbook on and start typing for fear of:
A. getting sidetracked,
B. making another late night
Obviously I didn't consider the discomfort of writing down on a pad, on my bed, and with a cat snuggling against my legs (he got to be comfortable, but left me little space, he's grown BIG).
I think I might have written for an hour, I completely filled four pages, and knowing myself, they will end up doubled during the passage to digital.
The problem is, my fic was supposed to be made up of two different moments. One was the first time Sherlock and Lestrade met (and how they hit it off. Possibly followed by how Lestrade cut him off for a while), the second how they got back... to whatever they were before John arrived.
The four pages want to be a third chapter in between those five years, something about their addictions, to cigarettes and to each other, how Lestrade wants to give up one and cannot without giving up the other.
Ah, it all sounds so complicated. And confusing!
I don't know. I will sleep on it.
Maybe cook on it first.
I read a while this afternoon, and got sucked into this:
I don't know whether to feel flattered, amused, disappointed or what else.
The coincidence is probably just that, a coincidence. But...