Tell me again, why do I need one of these things?

I had such wonderful ideas to post about, so they left without a trace when I sat down at my keyboard.

Mummyfrog, the last person I thought likely, booked us a holiday with less than 18 hours until the flight. So, I haven't been in the same island as my keyboard for the last week.

So I am my usual sunkissed colour (like Golum, but slightly less creepy), full of nice food and migraine medication, and possibly a little less highly strung (I hope, this is worrying me). Lovely (cheap-ish as such things go) finca rental in Mallorca complete with sheep and genuine oil press. Seriously out of our league and very very pretty. The usual combo of stitching, visiting interesting places and hiding from the brane.

Brane less than good yesterday, should go and get myself needled.

I still can't remember what was so deeply interesting and wow, except for the seventeenth century black work embroidery, which is the sort of thing I remember. Bbd took a sneaky photograph for my future consumption.

The plan was stitching (I'm "re-imagining" the chart I'm working on, knocking out the fully-stitched backround and altering some other bits so that it actually works as a picture and doesn't descend into green blobbiness -- I feel rather guilty suspecting that the designer didn't make/ have made a physical model; it's uncharitable to say the least and I'm in the "be nice, it surprises people!" school of human interaction).

Part of me feels like I should write. I have some fab rewrite material and I think I am connecting with Renfield much better. I'm feeling Renfield, I can feel the wind beneath his wings as he stands on the rooftop of Mark's apartment block and leans into the darkness. Also, I'm reconnecting emotionally with the whole story.

Also, the Bucky Haight (hard core logo) glam rock plot bunny is making a little more sense after some (mediteranean) blue sky thinking. Rampant and horrible political cliche aside, how else does Bucky get cursed in 1970s England if it doesn't involve Rupert "Ripper" Giles and a bad case of sequins?

I just feel shockingly inarticulate today, I even fluffed the toga demonstration at work and raw feeling is only good when you can tap it. Maybe I'll have a quick reread, but I seem to be suffering from chronic rewrite syndrome and every little change and vocabulary shift starts the slippery slope away from what the story actually needs... the spontaneous writing thing is as much a curse as a blessing, when it comes down to it. And my fingers don't always do what I want, says touch-typing girl (okay, four finger touch typing, but let's not get personal, I'm just agreeably fast).

Part of me wants to write and part of me suggests that "work" tomorrow will be a great loss of writing time. Ha! The last six months have been a great loss of writing time, so get over it!

Since I have now gone blank again (about everything - like roman clothing), I'm going to see how I can alter the stitching into something I like. Experimenting seems to have worked, now I just need to unpick and impliment my shocking changes. /hilarious overstatement