After a tremendously challenging day at work I came home and passed out for a couple of hours. The only reason I made myself get out of bed at 9:30 pm was because I knew my sweet husband had made me comfort food (turkey pot pie!) to cheer me.
But in my sleep . . . How I wish I could make this come to life on the page! I was dreaming about an English girl joining an early 20th century Portuguese traveling ballet/circus. It was so lush with detail and dialogue. Why can't I write stories like that when I'm awake?
Of course, dreams being what they are, it's entirely possible that it would all be gibberish if I could remember the words. But still . . .
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