Hiding from the storm

I've taken the laptop to bed with me and the dog and am warm and snug now.  Been battered and soaked most of the day and pity the poor souls who are afloat.  Also just inadvertently came across a Sky News report that Nelson Mandela has died.  Desmond Tutu, looking like a spring chicken, talking about him and how he needed the Robben Island years to mellow from the angry young man who was arrested to the statesman who emerged to be president.  He continuously carried out small acts of defiance in prison - amazing that he had such reach from often solitary confinement.

I have been busy with the course.  Current assignment is fiction story.  I have been chosen by a protagonist who is losing words, she cannot find them, some of them when she needs them and using words has been her identity.  She mourns this into unconsciousness and is due to re-emerge from the detritus of decay as the bones of her, her essence which she has to spend most of the piece getting to know. (yet to be written) Its mad, "sounds wacky" said a friend today - too true!  But I do feel gripped by this tale, impelled to 'do' it if not propelled!!  I'm only beginning and I've got writers block.

We haven't copped the worst of the weather yet so I'm keeping my hatches battened. I shall send you a supanova