NaNoWriMo and the prospect of a story are clearly doing their work in my subconscious, because all of a sudden, bits and pieces and dribs and drabs of ideas and thoughts and like a kid on a sugar high [1]. Which means I have lots of pieces of paper from wherever I happen to be at the time the muse starts screaming into my ear in her high-pitched babble.
Which is a good thing, I suppose, since it’s material for the story. But it does complicate things a bit, since some of the ideas are off at odd tangents.
If the past is any indication, some interesting and unexpected focus will occur once the starting bell rings. Until then … please don’t throw out those little pieces of paper with incoherent scribbles on them, honey.