So I roped in my beloved who knows how to rein in his prose admirably, and between us we knocked the thing into shape - and I emailed it today and the editor should have it on her London desk when she gets there (which is probably in about an hour or so's time). I'm feeling awfully efficient.
Back to work on the project in hand tomorrow.
I have been wishing that I could remember the vivid (almost lurid) dreams I've been having lately - there were stories galore buried in these, but there's just something about being bodily jerked back into the Real WOrld by an affection-starved cat at three o'clock in the morning (they are NOT hungry, they are NOT thirsty, they do NOT need litter boxes cleaned at least not in any kind of emergency manner and they are NOT sick but what they are is very used to the fact that I cuddle them whenever they demand it and they don't understand why I'm so cranky when they demand it in the middle of the night...) But then, I've always had Technicolor (TM) dreams in Sensurround(TM), always. I remember one time waking with the specific and very pleasant smell of freshly baked bread curling into my nostrils... when I was on a different floor from the only kitchen in the house and there was no bread being baked there anyway.
I remember a dream I had after both my beloved grandparents had died, and I was pretty freaked out by it, and I dreamed that I was walking up the path through this horribly wilted, overgrown, unkepmt and uncared for garden towards a house in much the same state of repair and being utterly upset at this prospect although at the time I didn't quite know why - and then I came in through the front door with its paint peeling in festonns and a lank-haired receptionist sitting behind a grotty old desk looked up and said to me, "They aren't here, try next door." I don't know how she knew who I was or what I sought just from laying eyes on me, but hey, it was a dream. Strange things happen.
So I went next door, and I was immediately much happier - the garden path was neat, there were flower beds,and window boxes, and the house was newly painted and neat as a new pin. And I wandered inside into a spacious sunny hallway, and then turned left into a corridor which had doors opening off of it, each door with a shiny brass plaque next to it with names engraved on them. And one of them bore my grandparents' names.
So I opened the door and went into that room, and there they were, my beloved ghosts, sitting side by side on a plush sofa, and my grandmother said, "Don't worry about us." And my Grandfather said, "We're all right."
And I crossed over to them and put an arm around each of them, and I *felt their hands come down gently on me, his on my left shoulder, hers on my right*.
I woke up in tears, still sensing that gentle touch... and you know what? After that, I was okay, really okay.
Some day I ought to start writing down the fragments that cling to the inside of my eyelids as I am waking, the minute I wake, before I do ANYTHING else. I haven't remembered a dream in that kind of detail for a long time, and I miss it.