Last night I dreamed. And dreamed. And dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.

Blocks of That Fantasy Book fell into my head complete with the fountains of Aix, a purplish hedge with deadly brambles, and the lady ghost who “lives” here in the mas…

At one point “this morning” I heard Peter Straub talking with The Frenchman outside, both of them still in their bathrobes. I put on some shoes and a coat and ran out, shouting “Peter! You’re here!” He gave me an enormous hug and finished his conversation with The Frenchman about “the parking situation.” Apparently Peter was living next door and we didn’t know it.

I’m still in it. I don’t want to leave because the dream logic of the story turns out to work in the daylight, too. And that’s immensely exciting.

The Frenchman is taking me to Lacoste today, the ruins of the Marquis de Sade’s castle. I found out this morning over breakfast. I have a feeling Lacoste will play a role in the book, as well.

Last night, we saw Little Children. It was okay. It was not American Beauty, which I think it sort of wanted to be. It did have moments that were nice. The Frenchman was unhappy with the fact that some of the characters who were discussing Madame Bovary had clearly not read the book (they were supposed to have).

More importantly, I ate a crepe. A whole crepe. I’ve eaten more in the last 24 hours than I’ve eaten all week combined. And it’s wonderful.