It’s fuzzy head time, brought about by getting up about two AM and not being able to do anything but drift in and out of something that felt like napping, but wasn’t. There was a bit of pain in my legs and some churning in my tummy, but mostly what I have is a lack of sleep brought on by too many things going on in my brain.
I know there were dreams, but all I remember of them was being in an open area where I had to rate people who looked suspiciously like the Mother of Dragons, only a lot more jail-baity like she is in the novels rather than the more grown woman in the television series. Why was I rating people like it was a wet tee shirt contest? I have no idea. My dreams don’t often tell me what they have in mind; I just roll with the madness.
Perhaps it’s a combination of things. I have things on my mind that are keeping me . . . not troubled, but worried. I also finished Chapter Sixteen of my novel last night, and with it ending on a downbeat, that means Chapter Seventeen, the penultimate chapter, is going to start on a downbeat. The last chapter promises to be better, but this new chapter is going to be somewhat depressing, as well as somewhat confessional.
You bring together the three main character of my story, add in a little something I picked up from Chapter Fifteen, and you have a bit of a mess–one that I created because, hey, it’s how I roll. Conflict is easy if you remember to follow The Manga Rule, and set up the dynamic of one guy, two women. Dance them all around a bit, and before you know it something’s going to break . . .
Probably someone’s neck.
So I picked up in a place where the lights are down and there are pools of darkness, and Erin isn’t feeling all that chipper because of something she did. And that’s where she gets a visit from–lets call her one of the bosses, a top goddess that comes to hold her hand while they work out what’s going on. It’s this character, the one who is stepping onto the stage for a bit of limelight, that really gave me the idea for this story, because this new character was the subject of an erotica story I wrote for the hell of it maybe ten years ago. It ended up on a website for a short time, and may still be out there somewhere, because nothing on the Internet ever dies.
There will be talking; there will be sadness. There won’t be blood, because I can’t see someone getting their brains bashed out with a bowling pin, and I’m not serving milkshakes. But there will be a bit of hand wringing, because guilt tends to do that to people, even if they are eight thousand years old.
Another six thousand words, maybe more, maybe less. That’s all that remains for Suggestive Amusements. Good or bad, it’ll be over, and I’ll move on to the next project.
We’ll see where my muse takes me.
I just hope it isn’t to the place I’m writing about.