I curled up on the floor. I felt like an animal.

I looked up. The top of this chamber was visible. It was a beautiful, if not impossibly built skylight which extended to the unseen walls. Maybe it was open to the natural sky, maybe it was glass, I could not tell.

One thing for sure, the stars were visible. They were so bright and vivid. I searched for constellations I knew. Nothing.

Where am I?

At some point I drifted out of this place and into a dream.

I was home, in my study, writing. I was laboring over the central theme of my latest novel. It was a messy journey through a man’s soul as he contemplated divorce. My study was comforting to me in my dream. I love my study. From the hand carved mahogany bookshelves stuffed with a thousand great works, to the Turkish rug that dominated the center of the room, it was home to me.

I conjured up a dozen bestsellers in that room. Somehow I tapped into a unique human experience there, something millions wanted to read, over and over.