Originally Posted by butters
I've not got much writing done of late and - as usual when i've not - my brain is totally fucking with me in dreamtime: everything from arranging a coach party's tickets for a firm i didn't even work for even as i'm supposed to be collecting a neighbour's dog from a grooming parlour, to marshamllow fluff spreading from a dropped suitcase on the coach... it spread like a fuzzy white wall of mycelium along the floor and up the walls of a corridor but i was able to roll it up quickly from the corner like a throw rug ... to Harry floating naked, head first and completely unperturbed, in a river under a layer of clear ice, long hair flowing around him before some other guy lifts him out and then he wakes up and is fine ... and then there were the mountains and the camels... honest to god, i need to start writing or i'll go frikkin nuts.
Yea, I just spent the night fretting over a motor launch made of rosewood that a friend was considering buying for £25,000 even though he'd never had a marine engineer take a look at it because he thought it was a bargain and the value of the wood would cover the outlay but I'd been over it with a spike and discovered much of the wood was so soft it would never stand the sea crossing home. My brain... pleeeeease stop and let me sleep.
Is this what getting older is like?
I deleted my signature when I quit Lit for a while. Now I'm back I really can't be bothered to write anything snappy because you can work out what's important to me from my posts.
Oh, I've written some stuff: search my name under the authors section over in Stories