(no subject)

So, weird, high-production-value[1] dream last night. I was a sixtyish black woman, in a church, trying to get revenge for... something. Maybe the death of a child or grandchild, maybe for my house being robbed... possibly both. It was one of those repeat-loop style of dreams, where the same event played out over and over, with slight variations, getting a little further along each time, until, just before waking, I grabbed the Deacon - the wrongdoer of the narrative - by the lapels of his sand-colored suit coat, spun him to face me as I yelled imprecations at him, and he was shot in the back by someone in the church doorway with an old-fashioned muzzle-loading musket (they may or may not have been trying to shoot me; that's lost to the winds of waking).

Uhhhhh... no idea, there. It was intercut with problems I'd been mulling over yesterday with the current draft of AJ's short-form WIP, so I was able to wake up and dash off a couple of notes for her, which will get acted upon today.


[1] American broadcast style, as opposed to cable miniseries or BBC, in that it had that oversaturated, glossy-but-gritty look of prime-time procedurals, and not the lush ornamentation of HBO or the slightly fizzy CGI sensation of Doctor Who