I’ve been pursuing another novel’s completion. Been writing that puppy as I can while navigating the usual life interruptions. They don’t need counted down on two hands for you to understand all the life junk happening, right? Employ memory and imagination, and you’ll probably get it.

I’ve been sort of stymied. I’m not a plotter. I don’t outline a jot. I’m a solid pantser, leaping from slippery point to slippery point, following whims and impulses like they’re magic winds carrying me toward my destination. Except, suddenly the winds dropped me into a place I didn’t recognize. Not sure where to go, I did some editing, revising, and rewriting while muttering darkly to myself about being misled by mean muses and wondering what the hell had happened to the Writing Neurons. Besides those activities, I made some assumptions and conclusions about what I thought was wrong, how some things lacked enough substance and understanding to build upon, and conducted some writing exercises to stimulate me, myself, and I. I refer to these exercises as snapshots. They’re all just focus exercises to help me have greater understanding of whatever needs more understanding: setting, history, concept, characters, motivations, relationships, whatever you might find in a novel.

After four days of that, grappling with where I was, unsure where I was to go, I said to myself, “Come on, man. Pitter patter. Get ‘er at ‘er.” And miraculously, the muses and the Writing Neurons emerged today and ordered, “Start typing.” And then they guided me through story twists which I never saw. Well, I partly saw some of ’em. But some of the twists involved twists I’d come up with but didn’t know how to put into the story. Suddenly, click, yea! All came together.

Most satisfying writing day, it was. Sometimes it does pay just to sit down and write like crazy. Who do I need to bribe to get more of these?