I have at least four plotlines dancing around, taunting me with their potential awesomeness, and I haven't had time to write any of them down. They've been driving me nuts. I have potential characters popping into my dreams and making arguments for why I should get up and write them. I have new locations sprawling out at night, all fierce and wonderful and mysterious. Granted, as soon as I wake up properly, I don't remember a damned thing about them. That, more than anything, has been pushing me off the deep end.
I've had to put my usual writing goals on hold for the last week and a half to get through three rounds of edits, and my brain is going through a large-scale rebellion. Apparently, reading through the same manuscript twelve times in nine days is not conducive to sanity. Ask my husband. I've been a babbling, spaztastic, incoherent mass of nerves--though that could also be due to my increased coffee intake. I would not survive without coffee, but it sure ups my crazy factor.
At least I have time to sketch out plot ideas, now. And character sheets. And locations.
Oh my.
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