I ideate.

I raked up piles and piles of leaves from our front yard, and tried not to think about how we waited with so much anticipation for them to arrive last spring. Though it looks very bare, more sunshine now comes into my bedroom, and my rainbow maker gets all charged up, so there is a blessing there. My writers' group was kind of sparse yesterday, only one of us brought a piece to read, and it was short, so it got a thorough going-over (not mine, thank HP) and probably more criticism than it would have otherwise. So we gabbed, and I found out one of our members teaches screenwriting at the local college. He invited me to check it out whenever I wanted. Now there's an interesting concept, I could write a screenplay! I always say the movies are, for the most part, amazingly facile, which has led me to believe that movie audiences are, too. But I notice a fair crowd at the smart people's theatre savoring the clever and deep independent movies, like Capote and The Squid and the Whale, movies that are atmospheric and thought-provoking. I could do that, right? Sort of a Ladies in Lavender set in suburbia thing, with a hint of The Graduate thrown in for spice. Sounds like a plan.