TrumpetVine of Trill

[ismo]

Well, this was another day that kind of went up in smoke due to lack of sleep. Pattern recognition is a beautiful thing that is theoretically useful to creative persons, such as writers. It's also a curse in the dead of night when every damn thing that ever happened clicks into place in a treacherous, labyrinthine mosaic of DOOM from which there is no exit. That's when you have to get up and go downstairs to await the dawn of a day in which you will bumble around in a hapless trance of exhaustion. My only accomplishment of the day was to take a brief nap, which made me only slightly less incoherent. The dawn was streaky and brooding; the day was cold and wet. No writing took place. I was pondering the fate of all the Susans in British children's fiction, and ended up going down a rabbit hole of Alan Garner. His Susan didn't even get a last name of her own.