It breathes and then holds its breath. It plays leapfrog with me. It entices and then becomes aloof. Sometimes it recedes until it's all but invisible and then it rushes toward me in a tsunami crush. It shrinks when tickled and then is all over me when it's ignored. But mostly it's unpredictable in a way that has become predictable...
Now that I'm in the heat of writing A Polite Little Madness, other book ideas are sprouting. These show up either when I'm trying to fall asleep or when I'm in conversation when all I can do is mentally file them away until the current book is finished. They're good ideas. One is even so timely that I considered writing it on the weekends while devoting the work week to Madness. I really don't want to do that, though. I do have an income to earn along with all of this, as well as a personal life to maintain.
There aren't as many of me as there used to be.
Of course, the bitch is, this flux of ideas couldn't come when I was sitting around with nothing more to stimulate my right brain than gardening or video games, it had to come now. This is the nature of creativity. It feeds on itself and the more we create, the more there is to create.
Here's an interesting article about creativity.