In this strange alchemy that is writing, in the last 24 hours I’ve worked on transformations and permutations:

• in my novel, a thirty-something black haired woman turned into a forty-something gray haired woman

• in one of my stories, a Russian biplane turned into a Chinese truck

• a snowbound London suddenly was consumed by a great fire

• a whole small nation was outlined on a scrap of notes paper (now I’ll have to copy it on file)

• Aculeo & Amunet suddenly did an about-turn and their story is catching speed

• and I’ve finished outlining the first novelette in the GreyWorld project

Great fun, despite my aching fingers.
Were it not that payments are erratic and people look at you like you are a piece of floatsam, this writing thing would be just what I’d like to do for a living.