Yesterday I got completely jammed up with my book - I had to do the Starbucks escape with a notebook and pen thing to get moving again.
I also had trouble falling asleep, but not because I was thinking of this book - I thought of a complete plot for a horror story - beginning to end. I had to turn on a light and write it down. This morning I looked at it again and ran it by Linda. She likes it - it still makes sense, not like some crazy undecipherable dream.
How weird is that? I don't even read much horror. Apparently there's a lot of unexplored stuff simmering in my subconscious soup.
So now I am motivated to finish this chick lit novel so I can move on and scare the crap out of people. Much more fun.
p.s. heard a real-life horror story today: e. only read 5 books last year! 3 on military stuff and 2 on kayaking. Now THAT'S scary. He needs me to dig him out of that deep, dark bookless well. I set him up with One for The Money, King Leopold's Ghost and Timeline for the long Easter weekend.