"I think I've had this dream before, except this time we're both clothed, and I suppose the ship hasn't yet found a beach."
You blink as he raises a hand by way of answer, and your paper and quill float off the capstan and through the air to stop, hovering like hummingbirds, adjacent to Vatch's head.
"Yes, that's my paper; I'm keen to get inspired so I can defend myself against this rapscallion of a writer. But I haven't a notion at all of what to write."
Vatch takes your quill in hand and slashes it through the air once, setting the papers spinning.
Suddenly the sheets of paper are full of gleaming script, glowing gold in the light from the curious sky. You gape. Inspiration is in those lines, you know it!
Onward