I'm tired and cranky and all out of sorts.
And I have fifty chapters left in what I think is my 18th pass of edits.
I'm sick of the story. I would rather clean the oven or gather junk for a trip to Goodwill.
The sun is somewhere else. Not here anyway. Gloomy gloomy.
But. I am starting my writing day at 10:30 a.m. as usual. Somedays it's at 2 p.m. or 3.
But today I begin in Faith, knowing that if I but start, the page will carry me away. The story will grab hold of my heart again, and I will be sad when my tired body needs to quit.
I have fresh inspiration in a small exercise before I work: I copy words of Stephen King (yesterday from Under The Dome) or Ray Bradbury (today it's The April Witch, a short story from his A Sound of Thunder and Other Stories collection). Not to steal their ideas, but to get into the flow of some great writing.
Yeah, I still would rather dig dandelions, but I am inspired to run to edits. And yes, I'll be ready to quit after a few hours.
But between now and then, the Lord will direct the magic to happen. Threads I didn't see or know were there will surface. New words will float to my heart from His boundless provision. Character's hearts will race with a new longing for the zest of life (or evil!).
And that, Dear Reader, is why I write.
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