Very rarely, I do some writing that doesn’t give me big trouble. It seems to come along willingly. I have the luxury of gently grooming it into the best shape without risk of disfiguring it.
Even plot points seem to line up as though magnetized.
This is such pleasure, especially because I’ve had nights from hell with the offspring. I do not know where the words are coming from, because it definitely ain’t me. In real life I’ve been reduced to communicating in grunts and sniffs.
Thank you, O god(desse)s of writing.