Over the weekend, in the middle of sickness and chaos and various disasters large and small, one of the less subtle muses walked up to me and smacked me upside the head.  While I was still reeling, she gave me another hit, and another.  It’s wonderful.  I’m back to working on Swimming North, something I set aside a few months ago for my subconscious to work on.  And I’m excited.  Plot points resolved themselves, new characters emerged, a structural dilemma vanished – all without any effort from me.

I’m enraptured.  I’m in love.  I’ve locked my Critic in the cellar and slammed the trap door over her head.  

I recognize the possibility that none of this is as good as it looks at the moment, but while it lasts, there’s nothing better.  Did I meet my goals I’d set for the weekend?  Well – I didn’t spend any more time on the synopsis, and I didn’t work on character development, but I definitely spent time at the page and the first chapter of Swimming North is shaping up better than I could have ever imagined.

How goes the writing for everybody else?

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