And sometimes the plotbunnies just stroll up and bite you

I don't usually report on my dreams in this journal, because they're usually so random that the telling is boring: "...and then Cab Calloway came up with a bag of salt and some toothpaste and told me that Carthage must be destroyed," that sort of thing. But on Friday, in the middle of a bunch of randomness, I had a dream-moment—just a moment, mind you—that is doing a serious number on my psyche.

I was female, in my mid-20s, flame-red hair, weather-beaten leather clothing, journeying along a country hillside on a gray afternoon with a man, older, bearded. I was apprenticed to this man, studying to be...a knight? A warrior? Nothing so simple, but much along those lines. I don't recall the conversation that led to this moment happening; all I remember is the man turning to me on the road, reaching behind my neck with his knife, and cutting away a few hairs from the nape of my neck, which he then held up before my eyes, short copper strands pinched between his finger and thumb. I understood what this meant: he was sealing our contract. I wasn't expecting this, not then, in that place. And not with him—my fate was supposed to be elsewhere. But I fell to my knees, eyes closed, arms spread ever so slightly as I pledged my subservience, not to him, but to the path I would follow. Not submission, but devotion and obedience to that which I must do. And in that rush, I truly understood that which I was surrendering, and that which I was giving myself to, and the risk I was facing, and that my life was now in the hands of something far larger and greater than me.

I hadn't had an epic dream like that in a long, long time.

First direct result is that I got gobsmacked into my annual AutumnWeird two and a half months early, dammit; I had to go into work still in Mythic Quest mode. The second effect was trying to process Anna's interpretation of the dream, which I won't get into, but suffice it to say, it broke my little brain. The problem I'm dealing with now, though? A plotbunny the size of Manitoba. I still don't know the backstory, or even the frontstory, but this is begging, begging to be written. I've never done straight fantasy before, but I very much want to try on this one. And even better, I think I can sneak in all the other orphaned plot details I've been saving since God-knows-when.

The problem? NaNoWriMo is still over four months away, and I don't want to go into it without an idea. I now have an idea, but I Don't Want To Wait. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

*grumble* Okay, help me out here, guys.

[Poll #1009758]

We pause for verse:

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

— e e cummings

Thank you. Carry on.