Limbo, drifting, lost, wandering.
The next project is calling; it’s almost there. Almost.
It’s like a name on the tip of my tongue – I can feel it, taste it, but it’s not formed, not cooked, not ready.
So I wait. Keep it churning, keep it moving, keep thinking about it. I’ll know when it needs to escape.
Until then I need something to keep my idle creativity active, lest it takes off into the real world and causes all manner of unpleasantness, so I have been writing… well … Things.
I have a character. She has no name, no face, no age. She’s a manifestation of feeling. She has nothing in her life apart from the way she feels about him: her Delicious.
Her thoughts go from examining the things he says and does through to examining her own behaviour, both towards him and in front of others.
I write about her almost daily.
It’s her fault I have an Accidental Novel.