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.
Much appreciated.
As a result, I’ll be spending the rest of the day scraping plotter
vomit out of my consciousness.
Yeah, cheers, mate.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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