Resurrection of the Blog

Here I am, trying to write 360 words per day until Oct 31, which will give me 100K words, the moral authority to blow off NaNoWriMo.

What'll happen?

Cassie Jonsdotter wakes up with a gasp. It's the Dream again, the bad one. And in a short time--years? months? she doesn't know--It'll be more than a dream. But how can she convince anyone? Crazy Cassie, skinny, flat-chested, pimply, going gray already at less than twenty (she was pretty sure), with the cross-eye. Who'd believe her? Nobody. But if nobody does anything...

She has to try, at least.

She kicks off the mess of ratty furs and rattier blankets that serves her as a bed, jumps to her feet and throws the pile into a corner. Can't have a regulation bed. Have to play the part of the crazy witch girl, after all. She crosses the cold wood floor of the hut on bare feet to the wood stove and cracks open the stove door to peep inside. The carefully banked coals still radiate heat and a few minutes of work stirs the fire to roaring life again. She's almost out of wood, have to see if she can talk Fred Davidson into chopping her some more. She mentally runs through her collection of mostly useless charms, wondering if Davidson would want one to ward off skunks... Maybe.

Maybe she can talk Davidson into doing something about the Dream.

"Fred," she'll say, "I have something Very Important to tell you," only it'll come out with a stammer and a mumble, or else a shriek. "You have to stop the Dream."

"What Dream? What are you talking about?"

But as usual by the time she's boiled a pan of oatmeal on the stove for breakfast, the exact details of the Dream are gone from her mind.

What can she tell him? "A bad Dream I can't remember?"

Why, she wonders in frustration, *can't* she remember? If the Dream is that important, and she knows it is, why does it *fade*? If the Higher Power, whoever, whatever, it is, wants her to *Do* *Something*, why does it make it so difficult to do it?

Whoever or Whatever is maybe not the Highest Power, she supposes.