And you know exactly what I mean by that. One second you're putting on your sunglasses and backing out of the driveway. The next, you're pulling into work without any recollection how you got there--or if you even drove. Your daughter is no longer in the back seat. You wonder if you dropped her off at school, or if she was ever in the backseat to begin with. The only thing you know for sure is that you figured out that snag in your plot. The one you've been losing sleep over. In that moment, your delight overwhelms any embarrassment or shame you should feel about minding speed limits, stopping at red lights, or transporting your daughter to a safe place.
You turn off the car, grab the keys, and walk in the building as if you're a normal person. You wish, sucka! You're not normal. You're a writer. Welcome.