If you hang out at JoAnn Ross Writers Group, you can STOP reading now. We writers need to save time when we can.

Fresh out of dreamland this morning, I stumbled semiconscious (and late) down the stairs to grovel in front of the coffeemaker. While I was waiting for the drip-drip-splash, I cranked open the blinds on the front door just in time to see a youth stride by wearing a headdress and wielding a tomahawk. This did give me pause. I might have even heard the gears and gizmos in my brain begin to grind.

If there had been an elevator shaft with me hanging by my fingertips, I would have thought I was still dreaming. I don’t think the writing is going well. There were two elevators in my dream last night. One was the size of a sardine can and getting ever smaller; the other…just an empty shaft. Yikes! I think I’m feeling some stress. This could be good stress, right?

My report to Sven this morning goes like this — Dreck. Dreck, dreck, dreck, dreck,…..DRRRRECK! We’re not even going to the mat. Sven, You’ve Got Mail!

Elen says, Happy Halloween!