Early this morning, I would say right before I woke up, I dreamed a short story. I saw the scenes in my mind. They were so real I could even remember specific lines. I woke up, made coffee, and started typing. I typed non-stop from a little before 7:30am to 9:30am, when I realized I needed to leave in twenty minutes for church. I thought for a split second about skipping out, but remembered that the ability to write is a gift from God and I would be an ingrate not to go to church. Also, it was my week to run the visuals during the service. So I took my Chihuahua, Baili, for the shortest walk in the history of walks, fed her, got cleaned up, and was out the door in just a few more than 20 minutes.
I was at church, but my mind sure wasn't. I found myself feeling irritable and impatient, wanting the service to end. After a bit, I realized it was because I needed to get home and finish this story. It was fighting to come out.
So I hurried home as soon as services ended and sat right down at the keyboard. I wrote non-stop for three more hours, at which time I had a sixteen page story of almost 5,000 words that came to me in a dream. I was so exhausted when I finished that I had to take a nap.
I wasn't planning to write today because I have about 320 essays to score by Wednesday. But I felt like I had no choice. It was in my brain and it had to come out. And that's when I knew I was a writer.