Okay, now I’m dreaming about the novel. This was not a Kubla Khan dream. This was an awful dream, a Puppies in Peril dream.
Somehow, my dreaming subconscious decided it would be a fine plot point if someone in this Oklahoma boom town decided to put puppies in bags and toss them off roofs. I don’t know why, maybe as a sacrifice to the oil gods? My dream didn’t track the progress of the puppies, it’s possible they escaped the bags and could suddenly fly.
What’s happening now is I am writing half a page a week, and making about five notes a week, because out of nowhere I’ll think of an interesting idea that may entertain someone for half a phrase. Perhaps the puppy dream is a guilt dream because I am not writing enough? Perhaps.
More probably, I find the current plot boring. Gotta jazz it up with flying puppies.