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7. Continuing on the subject of films, I experienced a never-before-encountered (for me) facet of the creative process, or journey, mentioned above.  After watching Cadillac Records the other night, I popped my little blue pill, as usual, and tried to cruise into sleep world.  NO WAY!   Just too much music—Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf, Chuck Berry, Etta James (played powerfully, no less, in the flick by Beyonce)—echoing between my tympanums and ticker.  One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock rock, so to speak—rock meaning … tossin’-n-turning, I was tossin’-n-turnin’….  And writing.  Verses and choruses.  No urgency, however, to get up and put the lines to paper.  I actually was making the revisions in my head, and memorizing them, and making SURE I didn’t fall asleep until they locked in.  Which is to say, I didn’t sleep—nary a wink.  Got up finally at 5 and finished the song—on paper.  Got it all down.  Sent it to Wylie.  It might never make the cut.  I most definitely will not make the top hits  charts or go out there and send mailbox money home to Daddy.  But what a rush, what a trip, to become so heart-n-soul-n-mind-n-body possessed by The Creative Spirit, by my dancehall gal Muse in her black fishnets and red stiletto heels!