As self-appointed leader of the opposition-to-plotting party, I hereby resign.
To those whom I leave behind on my break for the other side of the fence, I wish you luck and hope to soon see you on the outside. As I don't usually go around asking people what style of underwear they are hiding, I likewise have no idea which side of the fence any of you are on, but I'm outing myself.
Look if you dare.
(For the moment, I'm out of metaphors for closets, underwear, and whether or not one should plot in the closet or pants on the lawn. Feel free to make up your own and share it, but if you do, we'll all know where you stand and what you're wearing!)
What brought this on? Scene and Sequel, baby.
Someone finally stood up on a table, waved her arms wildly enough to get my attention, then told me that while I can be entertaining at times, in a Picasso-eye-where-your-ear-should-be kind of way, my writing is a tad too unfocused for general consumption.
Enter Mr. Bickham, Scene and Structure concept.
Result? I have a google map of the yellow-brick road, know right where to get a free apple, where the poisonous pansies grow, and the departure schedule for hot-air transportation.
Looking for me? Look up, baby. Look up.