I often think that writing fiction is an affliction that we suffer from; an addiction we cannot escape. It can be torturous. Even when we sleep we cannot escape the stories inside, the characters who gab away about this and that. No rest for the weary writer. So many dreams swirl around in my mind at night, then I wake only to have those dreams dispel into unorganized semi-conscious clouds of What was that about? Would someone please invent something, some kind of machine with diodes and doohickeys that hooks up to our brains to document our nightly dreams. It would make writing so much easier. Wait, it’s already invented. It’s called the pen, some call it the typewriter, and the result is fiction. I need my fix.