Turns out that I wrote a novel. Who knew? I found out about it in a dream. Apparently, the way you write a novel is that you copy and collate from real life. Sounds like a good approach to me. In the novel. Roddy McDowell was supposed to murder me, but he declined. So I had a murder mystery without a murder. This is what a lot of my writing is like in real life, too. It was probably all for the best, though, since I was also the narrator. Though I've fired a narrator in my time as well.
Other dream was yet another one about my dad buying a new house. My mom always is alive in these, but usually in a pretty advanced state of Alzheimer's. There never seems to be much furniture either. I don't even particularly want to know what they mean anymore; I'd just as well that they went away, though. Though the houses tend to be pretty neat.
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