grow keenly wakeful. I get up and snatch paper and pencil from the table
behind my bed. It was as if a vein had burst in me; one word follows
another, and they fit themselves together harmoniously with telling
effect. Scene piles on scene, actions and speeches bubble up in my brain,
and a wonderful sense of pleasure empowers me. I write as one possessed,
and fill page after page, without a moment's pause.

Thoughts come so swiftly to me and continue to flow so richly that I miss
a number of telling bits, that I cannot set down quickly enough, although
I work with all my might. They continue to invade me; I am full of my
subject, and every word I write is inspired.

This strange period lasts--lasts such a blessedly long time before it
comes to an end. I have fifteen--twenty written pages lying on my knees
before me, when at last I cease and lay my pencil aside, So sure as there
is any worth in these pages, so sure am I saved. I jump out of bed and
dress myself, It grows lighter. I can half distinguish the lighthouse
director's announcement down near the door, and near the window it is
already so light that I could, in case of necessity, see to write. I set
to work immediately to make a fair copy of what I have written.

An intense, peculiar exhalation of light and colour emanates from these
fantasies of mine. I start with surprise as I note one good thing after
another, and tell myself that this is the best thing I have ever read. My
head swims with a sense of satisfaction; delight inflates me; I grow
grandiose.

I weigh my writing in my hand, and value it, at a loose guess, for five
shillings on the spot.