So the novel I’ve been working on — The Brave and The Free seems to be the working title. No, I don’t know why reversed — and which is, metaphorically speaking, all in pieces on the garage floor, possibly mixed with a clock’s innards, finally became clear last night. All of a sudden I knew which pieces went in, which pieces got chucked and which pieces were disguised as something else, and therefore will need a big reveal to make the reader understand them as well as a couple chapters of foreshadowing on the way there.
So… woke up at six thirty am today. Went on long walk while thinking. Came back energized and eager to write. Was reminded fifteen year old needs clothes for vacation. Cue in the shopping experience now even more fun with sullen teen. (His fault for having a massive growth spurt the last month.)
Right now I should be cleaning and taking the new bookcases to the attic. (What, don’t you buy bookcases everytime you go out? Why, I thought it was the law!) Only I am desperately trying to get some writing in, before the grand, glowing vision fades.
Oh, and by the way, the bed is still unmade and I have approximately three thousand loads of laundry to do. Wheee!