At work on Tuesday I hit my head on a shelf, pretty hard. I was stunned but more or less OK, except that over the next 2 hours I started to feel dizzy and began to forget how to pronounce words. I asked a customer if she wanted the "wittery" weight (don't ask), then the "glirry" one, and finally a colleague stepped in and told the woman I meant "glittery". At this point I decided to go home and lie down for a bit.
Funny thing, the brain. The next day I was still mangling words, or forgetting names I'd used not long before... but lordy, I wrote a lot. I managed more than a chapter, nearly 3000 words. I've reread it today, expecting errors and clunky phrases to be honest, but it's OK. Not bad at all.
Ergo, I conclude that I write well and fluently after a good knock on the noggin. I do not want anyone to get ideas about that.
But the brain is weird. One mild concussion might do nothing but give you nausea and a dreadful headache . The next might clear away some cobwebs, break down subconscious barriers, and let you think thoughts that have been skulking about for a while but not really made themselves known. Of course it still gives you a blinding headache and all the rest, so it's not worth it (don't try this at home, kids!). I find it interesting though, because for a writer there's a constant churning of story ideas below the conscious level. I can't remember the number of times when I've shot upright in a cinema, or a pub, or watching TV, and said "Eureka!" as the solution to a knotty plot issue has suddenly sprung fully-formed into my mind.
So I think I freed up some ideas, somehow. I'm no psychologist, and I don't understand the intricacies of the brain... but you know, nobody does. We're forced back to the same shrug of our shoulders; the brain is just weird.
At least, I'm pretty sure mine is.