Second November Update

Gee, my titles are getting more and more creative. Actually, I'm not feeling creative at the moment. I'm feeling full of a cold and I don't really want to do anything but sit and feel sorry for myself.

But, surprise, I did actually get some writing done even when I felt wretched. That must mean something (apart from the fact that I'm crazy). I guess I no longer feel 'right' if I haven't done at least some writing every day. Oh my goodness, I'm turning into a . . . writer!

Since the middle of November I've written about 4,000 words. Doesn't sound a lot, but at least I've written every day. Sometimes I've been elated because things have turned up in my writing that were unexpected and work well. Serendipity. But then I've plunged into the depths when I set a time to write and the whole world decides to phone me or call in and visit. Sigh. What I need is balance.

Now I need to get rid of this cold. I'd have some chicken soup (I've heard that's good) but the chickens wouldn't like it . . .

First November Update

Our little group has now started a l-o-o-o-o-o-ng assignment. We write every day for 25 days (plus other stuff). I'm in a state of pleasant surprise. So far I've managed to keep up and have written to the maximum each day. Of course, we've only done two days so far so that's probably no great achievement, but it feels like one.

My biggest problem is deciding what comes next. My plot is not as complete as it could be. Okay, it's more like a string bag - more holes than bag. Oh dear.

I will just have to hope my subconscious brain knows what it's doing and unleashes its secrets when I free-write. My one worry is that my weird dreams come from the same source.

Dreams

You know those annoying people who say you should write down your dreams because they can give you ideas for novels? Pah! Not my dreams.

Last night I dreamed I was in India. Sounds like a good start to a story, doesn't it? Ah, but I was in someone's house and one of the men tried to kill me, but the other people persuaded him to dance instead. Hmm. In order to keep him happy, they thought it best to cook chickens (what is it with me and chickens?) so they put them into a huge frying pan. The pan was filled with dirty-looking water and the chickens were still alive, still had their feathers, and they were paddling in the pan of water. I was intrigued because they all stayed in the pan, so I went to take a closer look. One of the chickens leapt out and started to peck me in the face. I took a step backwards and the chicken jumped to the floor and started to peck my ankles. I went round the room trying to escape the chicken. The Indians thought I was dancing. (See, even in my dreams I'm not Chief Chicken. Sob.)

Perhaps I shouldn't say it, but most of my dreams are much weirder than that.

And please, please, please, nobody try to find out the meaning of that dream. I'm sure I don't want to know.