The Jekyll Revelation

by Robert Masello

But stories have not only a will of their own, but a secret wellspring, too. My own come to me as dreams, cobbled together by an army of what I have dubbed my Brownies, those anarchic spirits whom I willfully muster, every night, as my little boat sets sail upon the sea of sleep. Their task is to bring me a tale of derring-do, of intrigue or adventure, a shilling shocker to capture the imagination of the public and make my name, and fortune. When I awake, I do so slowly, taking care not to shake my head or address the events of the coming day lest I disturb whatever strange cargo they have brought me. I sift through the remaining impressions, the images and incidents and ideas, as if they were dry goods piled in bins, and if my Brownies have done their job, there is invariably something to reward my search.