Samuel Taylor Coleridge was lyricking away at Kubla Khan, so he told posterity wistfully, when an annoying person from Porlock — some have speculated it was his opium dealer — knocked on the door and derailed his train of thought.
Robert Louis Stevenson may well have been fueled by cocaine during the rewrites of Dr. Jekyll and Mr, Hyde, which he first conceived in a dream from which his wife woke him. (He snapped at her.)
Me, I go to bed after a supper that included a temperate amount of Chardonnay, take some nutriceutical sleep inducers, and wake up from a dream about a Salvation Army Sunday service in which the hymn tune was so distinct that I scrabbled up some stave paper and wrote it down.
Someone give the guy from Porlock my phone number before this happens again?