I really should start a dream journal. Not a journal of my hopes and aspirations, but a journal of the weird dreams I have. My dreams are full-color, wild adventures involving all sorts of things from pirates to zombies to spaceships to angry cats to swarms of preying mantises. These are not nightmares. Nope, my nightmares are beyond creepy and scary. Those make Criminal Minds' serial killer crime scenes look like happy kids' pictures. My nightmares are why I refuse to take Percocet or watch/read dark horror or even a lot of intense thrillers.
I've had a lot of dreams lately. I think it's my subconscious telling me I really need to step up my writing. I need stories. I need imagination running wild. Now to find the time and energy to make it all happen. And words. Yep, words are important, too.
Meanwhile, I'm still typing away at Winterqueen's War. It's turning into a convoluted mess. I'm losing track of storylines and characters and important events. I'm starting to think it will never make sense and it's a pointless pile of crap. This makes me smile because it means I'm on the right track. About half to two-thirds of the way through any of my books, this is what happens. I go back, re-read the story so far, and realize that it's much better than I thought. I'm still shooting for having this one out by the end of the summer.
Meanwhile, I've got a pile of audiobooks in the works. Fingers crossed that Autumn Visions gets approved this week.