Dreamed of cut-off hair. Women's hair. Strands of it scattered on snowy ground. Seen from the window of a passing train. And dogs. Wild howling dogs running about a desolate place punctured with stumps of trees. Like they've been razed off. But the hair, the hair was unmistakably dead. And this is a scene from the book I'm planning to write while on the Amtrak train, you know, doing the residency thing. I must confess, I'm a little scared of this book now.