photomontage - Brainstorming

Brainstorm

By

Bobbi Piasecki

It was a dark and stormy night with occasional glimpses of light flashing from the clouds of thunder and lightening. I was up late trying to write a story I had stuck in my head. A short time later, my eyes started to blur as the call to sleep came from body. Between writers block and the lack of sleep, the words for my story stayed deep inside my mind. So I decided to lie down and get some sleep.

Several minutes later, I could feel my mind and body were still at unrest from constant tossing and turning. I didn’t know if this was caused by the storm or my unsettledness with my story progress. Eventually, my mind seemed to drift in and out of a dreamlike state until I thought I had finally succumbed to a deep sleep. When suddenly, I was awakened to the sounds of voices calling out to me.

I got out of bed and followed the echoing voices. As I walked closer to their sounds it became clear as to what they were saying, “What are your deepest analytical thoughts?” and “What are your greatest fears?” The voices led me to a closed door. When I opened it I saw a room filled with beautiful flowers and the sun shining through a large open window. In the center of the room there was a large desk and chair. On top of the desk lay a pen and some paper. Now, I understood what the voices were trying to tell me and I sat down to begin writing.

This time the words came easily to me, crashing down unto the paper with each thunderous strike of lightening. This brainstorm was filled with haunting ideas of a terror driven tale. A tale so frightening, it was guaranteed to make ones flesh creep, curdle the blood and strike terror into those who dare read it.

The words continued to come down like heavy rain pouring my deepest fears onto the blank paper. Although I was surrounded by the false sense of security from the flowers and open window, I still felt as though I was sitting on pins and needles. My heart was in a state of quake and my mouth was bone dry as I was scared spit less. My body continually quivered as I held the pen in my trembling hand inscribing the terror driven words onto the innocent pages.

Eventually, exhaustion and contentment replaced my unsettledness and fears. As a result, a horror story emerged so intensely frightening it would have scared the hell out of Stephen King and propelled the reader into a state of perpetual nightmares. My nightmares.