I believe there is a mad plotter residing in my head. Just behind my left brow. A smidge off center and to the right. Do you have one?
Mine can put up one heck of an ache when overtaxed. Understandable, I suppose.
But he can also put up one heck of a pinch when underused, abandoned, tossed like ashes to the wind. This I didn’t know until last night.
My dreams (normally horrid things anyway which I am lucky enough to remember every detail of, every night) took on a particular plot-laden air. Romance novel plots. Tropes, if you’d prefer. Betrayals of one sister for the other sister. Sinister scams involving sex and crocodile tears. Evil twins popping up out of the woodwork. Amnesia ruining wedding days. “Dead” lovers ruining honeymoons…
It was all very ridiculous and rather seedy. Apparently, my lack of writing time these past weeks resulted in my inner-fictional strategist throwing up his cookies all over my sleep last night.
Thanks for that.
As a result, I’ll be spending the rest of the day scraping plotter vomit out of my consciousness.
Yeah, cheers, mate.