I was up half the night dreaming and waking, dreaming and waking. All I could think/dream/wake about was this book. And not just the book --the BOOKS. I couldn't stop thinking about new plot ideas, new characters, new places of interest. Then suddenly my mind would think about a great new children's book idea --and then it would switch to an auto-biography. A what?!? Yes, exactly. Why would I think that? But back and forth, back and forth.
When the cat fight outside our window (luckily, our cat survived) woke us up at 5:15AM (and I happened to NOT be running this morning, darn cats! Could have slept longer!), I was wide awake. I went downstairs and began typing, trying to get all my ideas out. It's been hours now (of course, I haven't been at the computer for hours --I do have children to raise and clothes to wear), and my mind is still completely cluttered and unfocused. Wait. No, it's completely focused on one thing: writing. But writing about everything I've ever done, said, experienced, lived, etc. etc. Once I think I have a great idea, I'll start and then scratch it and start over. The mantra "Write what you know" keeps cycling in my brain, and I can't help but respond "Well, dang it all! Jane Austen didn't write what she knew, now did she?"
Unfortunately, Jane Austen, I am not. Definitely not.