I love easter. I love chocolate, and I love five day weekends, or six if you count the day I took off after the ball. I love staying in bed until after 10 am, and I love watching trashy movies to my heart's content. Some titles i have perused this weekend include Pretty in Pink, Titanic, Just My Luck, The Jungle Book, Ghostbusters and Bend it Like Beckham. My life this weekend has resembled something like paradise. That is until reality rudely intrudes to tell me about all the things I should be getting on with. Assignments for example. If i ever procrastinate as much as I have this term ever again, I may end up teaching PE. There's nothing wrong with that by the way if you are a PE teacher...I just don't like sports.
A lot of my writing lately has revolved around a particularly strange dream I had sometime last week, and just to break tradition, i have yet to type any of it. I am merely building a very rough, very...well bad... framework in the depths of my latest journal (Number 6 i believe) and I intend to make it much better when I finally decide to immortalise it on my hard drive.
The weirdest part is, it's a crime and adventure story. I never write crime. I barely read crime. I dabble, what with Stephanie Plum and Women's Murder Club, but very rarely. So what on Earth is compelling me to write a crime novel???? I'm not stupid enough to say no thankyou when a good idea comes my way, but I'm probably the biggest skeptic here. I don't want my first novel to be a one of a kind crime novel that I can never follow up in kind. I need my first novel to be representative of the alter ego within me. So "Thriller" as it has been dubbed, may be the hidden manuscript that is discovered in my estate centuries later.