This morning, I was dreaming of reading Patrick O'Brian's drawerfic. (Drawerfic being the stories that are written and then shut in a drawer forever, usually from professional embarrassment.) There were several short stories. The one I remember had a captain who was a cross between Jack and the saintly Anson, who took on some convict castaways, one of whom -- a fatalistic Irish maid -- was later revealed to have tentacles. (I did say this was drawerfic.) We were just getting into the interesting ramifications of this when my alarm went off and I had to get up for real. No Stephen or Stephen-analogue had yet appeared in the story, though looking back I can feel his shadow stretching all through it. I was sleepy all day.