Here I am, sitting in my hotel room in Gettysburg. Beside me, I have pages of handwritten notes taken during my afternoon visit to the museum, and my subsequent solo trip to Little Round Top. I must have taken a hundred photos, many of which warrant close inspection when I get home. Half of my head is buzzing with useful writerly ideas on how I might incorporate what I picked up today into Abraham Lincoln Stole my Homework. Unfortunately, the other half - bless it's little cotton socks - is throwing out potential titles, possible characters and plot ideas for the third Snowy novel.
For someone whose brain rarely fires on one cylinder, never mind both, I'm finding this very disconcerting.