Today was one of those writing days when you're in the Zone. When you're so disconnected from everything around you and the only thing that exists is the story going on inside your head. You aren't even aware that you're typing, or that there is a screen perched a couple feet from your face. The words suddenly appearing on its screen as your fingers fly along the keys mean nothing. You're just reporting what you see, writing down the movie rolling in your mind. No one yells cut, no one demands a second take, everything is as it is and it's perfect.
When you're finally done, when the Zone recedes and you crawl back out into the real world and reread what you wrote, some of it you don't even remember. It's like reading it for the first time. You're often stunned by your own brilliance and wish you knew how to bottle it and drink it down on the days when it isn't like that, the days when you struggle for just one coherent sentence that doesn't sound like it was constructed by a three year old.
But you can't bottle it. And you can't control it. It shows up when it does and you grab hold and hope it lasts for the duration. When it's over, you reluctantly let go and hope it comes back again. Soon. Tomorrow would be nice.