Dreamed today of a huge spider in my bathroom. Which is not quite as bad as *actually* having a huge spider in my bathroom would be, but it was damn fucking close. At the time. But, okay, in case any spider gods are squinting at me, I still don't want a real huge spider in my bathroom. The dream is preferable. Spiders be gone.
Speaking of which, all kinds of people are all of a sudden finishing up and posting great stories. A deluge of good fiction. I feel rich. Rich! But not in X/S smut, so someone needs to get on that, yo.
Speaking of which. I actually started the first story of my X/S "season" and, knock on wood, it is banging right out of the gate. I'm almost halfway done. If I stayed home tomorrow I bet I could just about finish it. Boggle at that, won't you. Not that I'm staying home tomorrow because I did that last week. Fuck.
Also sketched substantial part of an outline for next noir story, and wrote a few stray paragraphs to establish a starting point, even though they're not the opening paragraphs. Usually I do write in perfectly chronological order. Time is linear and one-way; so is traditional narrative. And as I write, things happen--maybe I've plotted out some beforehand, but it's still a forward process of momentum and chance.
Only the physical fact of tiredness and the need to go to work tomorrow is forcing me to bed right now. I hate when I have to cork up the creative flow. I'm so jazzed by the sandx (I needed a word like that) that I feel like shoving it on someone and saying, look, look! If I were the kind of person who posted teasers, I would, but I'm not.
I am sleepy, I must admit. Logged back on to jot more notes, but have to acknowledge the lure of the pillow and the defeat of the flesh.
And she said good-night.