I feel the blues a-lifting. I don't know why or how and normally my instinct would be to try to figure it out. As my husband would say I have a tendency to ruminate. Flattering. I like cows anyway when they lead healthy lives on a pasture. The kind that live in too close of quarters, make me feel guilty and like I should be doing more to liberate them. But that is off the subject. What is the subject?
In any case, I am writing now and it is time to warm up for the day. I know how to get my head into the groove of the day. No, I don't know that. What I know is how to get my head into the work, and what it feels like when my head is there. To know what happens next I have to adjust my mind to my characters' perspective. I have learned so much about this thin slice of space and time that is my novel. That doesn't really exist anywhere but there is absolutely only one truth of it. Only one way to go. I have a choice in telling it. But once I choose that there really is only one way to go. I must stick to the truth of the story. Does that makes any sense? That there is an integrity to the telling and I know what it feels like. So now that I know that I know, perhaps it won't be so scary to just go there. (perhaps that what this is is flow)
As always (in a hurry to get to the next thing),