My son was about ten when he began drawing objects. He drew a picture of himself scribbling away, while his head was open like a hinged door. Tiny people were escaping out of it on strings, and lowering themselves to the floor below. Hundreds of them were descending the top of his head, where they seemed to be escaping from his brain. I fear in my life time I have lost many of these escaping ideas, since I failed to pen those stories or poems before...