I don't usually dream, at least not the kind I can share on a blog *eyebrow waggle* but last night both Stephen King and Sharyn McCrumb stopped by for a critique on my book. Awesome. Both authors I respect very much and would normally LOVE to see but apparently I was moving and had been overrun by cats I don't currently own. King had a terrible allergic reaction to the cats and I spent a goodly amount of time digging through boxes for Benadryl so he wouldn't swell up and pass out on my couch. While searching, we discussed the plot and he hated it while Sharyn thought I was marvelous. This may be why I own all of her books and not as many of his. ;)
Stress? Novelist jitters? Abnormal adversion to cats? Or just the SlimFast diet bar I snuck in before bed?