Maybe this coincides with my husband reaching the top of the mountain; he’s been working hard to get back into his hiking routine, and with a cool morning, the conditions were ripe for him to make that big push, freeing up the morning for me to, ahem, get some writing accomplished. Both of our dreams were realized, with some pain involved along the way.
No getting around how much a six-mile trek takes from him, whilst I was struggling to return to fictional form. Rust accumulates and simply has to be slogged through….
But that’s okay; I spent this week near the sewing machine, turning out the Christmas quilt top, as well as the beginnings of an Advent wall hanging for my nieces.
I also started some place mats that are a wedding present for college friends of my eldest and her hubby. A couple of coasters will accompany, once I have lots of small scraps with which to play, hehehe.
Yet all week I considered The Hawk; I might not have done any active work on it, but plenty of subconscious (and not so subconscious) meanderings occurred. Amid those pondering were items I’ll need to address in the next round of revisions, as well as the biggie; what happens next! Maybe that’s why I dithered all week, or sewed rather. Part 11 starts to tie up what has been the focus since the end of Part 8, oh my goodness. And Part 11 actually kick starts what I sincerely hope is the last plot line of this novel, although I know better than to actually assume anything, lol. Basically, as I very slowly started typing this morning, I acknowledged how out of my hands is this whole dang story. Thankfully that frees up my digits to simply type what pops into my head.
So much of writing is solitary, very much like my husband’s hikes. He can send me photos, but takes each step by himself. Yet how handy are these pastimes we enjoy, for his walks give me time to write, and he can gladly spend a few hours without feeling I’m home alone with nothing to do. Yet these tasks, for all their pleasures, need to be repeated in order to attain the maximum benefit. His results are health-related, and maybe mine are too, mental and emotional food for my soul. While I love to sew, and certainly find plenty of it to do, writing is my creative life-blood.
During this week of prose down-time, I wondered just when the mood would strike. It’s nothing I can conjure, it’s about being patient. Yesterday I felt the nudge, like drops of water for a thirsty person. And while laundry intruded, texts from my hubby answered, this morning I started to draw out sentences and paragraphs, leading into one completed scene, which was slowly followed by one more. My husband had returned by then, and while he ate lunch, I pounded out a few last words, wrapping up chapter…. Oh my, 195 chapters of this saga, from where have they arisen? I won’t dare answer that, nor shall I mull over how many remain. Instead I’ll be thankful the words continue, even if that process is at times difficult, and somewhat lonely. Yet, I’m surrounded by characters, just like my spouse is inundated along the trail by nature. A single bench marks the peak, but my what a view. Maybe I’ll feel similar when the last words of The Hawk are written. One hell of an effort, but what beauty has been revealed….