Writing has somehow become something I used to do rather than something I love. What brought this change and what stemmed and slowed my imagination iI don't know but over time it has come to this that I have to think about what to write the ideas that once flowed freely need to be caught in a net and assembled and directed in order to become a piece of writing. I remember a vine creeping up the side of a wall a living breathing vine that would carefully deliver a young girl creeping out of the window safely to the ground. She would slowly amble over the hill to a wood where she would meet all manner of people from faerie. Where is she! Now to take her place is a hesitant self conscious girl too shy and responsible and careful not to take the smallest of risks. She would never climb out of a wondow nor go exploring at night, there is a world out there that excites her curiousity but not enough for her to take that step into the unknown. Hmmm...she's careless in her own way, this is why she doesn't take risks, clumsy as ever she already has a skill for tripping over her own feet and falling on flat surfaces.

Working at the local library while going to college was a good setup-it help focus her studies and keep her in pennies for stuff. New member wants to join but slighting the younger librarian asks for someone who knows what thay are doing. Bit rude, but I'll get over it. Alicia soon finds he is new in town and drives into college. bit of a rebel in his habits regarding study rooms around the college.

Only these are just ideas of a tired nature, got to find a way to write my bestseller!!

Am currently reading 'The Blind Assassin' by Margaret Atwood, not sure how I feel about this book but I'm sticking with it, see where it leads.