I sat down earlier to do just what I had intended on doing; writing. What I actually ended up writing was the surprising bit. I walked into my parents room and caught something in the air; the faint, however familiar scent of my grandparent's house in PA. It was as clear to me as if I had just opened their front door. I sat down and began writing the one thing I never thought I would; my grandmother's request for grandpa's story. She had titled it A Patch of Ice, referring to the cause of it all I suppose. I kept the title and scribbled 3 pages in Edgar Allen Poe fashion; long sentences, lots of detail, and a lot memory. I don't know where to go from there, but I guess it will come to me. My writing was incredible tonight, I hate to stop it now, but I'm beyond exhausted. I opened up an optional beginning to my novel and after a while, came up with Ashnah and Telsim, additions to Emoh. Each planet is diverged from an idea of government we have now; republic, anarchy, and an idealistic sort of communism kind. I've wiped Teague clean and have given him a new name (Treague- similiar, but with very different pronounciation) and with the name has blossomed a different personality. I'm still tweaking the settlements of each planet and trying to get a feel for my characters in their new surroundings. It's more difficult to do than one would think. Anyway, I felt extremely priveleged and satisfied to catch myself in a very effective writing mood to get those things accomplished. Sometimes it flows, sometimes it doesn't, but I do not write for naught. Carrie