I'm having dreams of missing my train. I can't get my bag packed, or I can't get to the depot, or I disembark to wander in a gypsy bazaar and return to find my train long gone.
The other evening I was at a barn concert -- a house concert held in a barn -- and an acquaintance asked me what I've been up to. "I'm writing a book," I said. Reader, I said it out loud.
See what a week of writing Morning Pages "as if" will do?