Plugging away at the NaNoWriMo novel. I'm behind, but I'm catching up. I really need to head to bed soon. We have to get up early so Avadore can attend school after all.

I'm not sure if I posted this link from the October 1st edition of The Washington Post online. Stephen King discusses writing. Entertaining read with, as far as I know with my brief experience, a good deal of truth.

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The best thing about trying to have a soundtrack for one's life is that when one is writing and trying to evoke emotions that need to be written aboutone only has to pop in the music that accompanied the time in their life when those emotions were the strongest.

Scents are also helpful.

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My problem tonight is that I feel as if I'm back in one of those liminal spaces again. Somewhere between my keyboard at my desk in the great basement room in Southeast Idaho, 2006, my dorm room in the same town, 1995, and a school bus, during the mid-1980's.

It's a surreal feeling, as if my body would split if it could; a yearning for long ago and people of once upon a time; a longing for intangibles: past emotions, people who have changed, and an old me, a young me, before I was grown and mature and responsible with children of my own and the dreams of 1995 and 1987 coming true.