With a buzzing jumble of ideas, and death-grip fear of writing something good in the meantime.
What is this addiction-like thing? Wanna write grueling hours with other people writing grueling hours, under the ::ticktocktick::, with status bars and sympathetic/empathetic IMs and all.
Almost like discipline all over again, though I forget the point.
Laying out bits of sweet fruit (fresh made strawberry-rhubarb treats no less), sparkling baubels, and the like, to lure November a little closer. What does a coolish birthday month like, anyway?
A new notebook. A new pen. A new blog (still camera-shy). A fresh cup of coffee.
And a dozen reference books, dog-eared, and piled on the fur-kin. Just in case.
Armed with a plot, the loosest sense of characters, and a really good font.