Spring pollen has entered my brain. It’s swirling in there, leaving me blank, scattered, and sleeeeepy. Hypnotic, that stuff. All I’ve had energy for lately is slow-poke reading on my Nook (Kerouac’s On the Road, at the moment) and hamster-like refreshing of American Idol blogs. More! More gossip and grousing, please! Why do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t. But I do. When I’m this tired, it takes big manipulative shiny things to keep my attention. Plus, I just love that stupid show.
Last night, I dreamed about James Durbin. (No, not like that.) He was still in high school, and I was this Rufus-like character (Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure) who had to make sure he stayed on track to become an AI contestant in the future. Somehow, this involved helping him and his friends set off the school sprinkler system.
I’d say I need to turn off the television, but that’s my one and only TV vice, so I don’t want to. I’ll just say it’s because of my son’s asperger’s diagnosis and my hope to support him in his dreams. Okay? Okay. Good. ‘Nuff said.
On the writing front, I realized that if I ended my early chapters on a cliffhanger note, it gave me more momentum in starting the next chapters and kept each from having a happy ending (which is kind of a no-no).