Ionce woke in the middle of the night with an idea for a new cosy crime novel. Realising how important this was, I grabbed the notebook and pen I keep on my bedside table for this exact purpose and scribbled away. I was so keen to get the idea down on paper I didn’t bother putting on the bedside light. When I’d finished writing, I settled back to sleep, smug in the knowledge that I had captured my brilliant idea.
When I awoke the following morning, I remembered I’d had an idea, but I couldn’t recall what it was. So I found my notebook and turned to the page in question to find. . .
Well, it wasn’t a great idea. In fact, there were no recognisable words at all. All I could make out on the page was an indeterminable scribble. I panicked and flicked through the pages. Had I written it somewhere else? Eventually, realisation dawned. That scribble was what I’d written in
