Today for about two and a half hours it was impossible for me to focus on writing anything that required deep thinking. For that period of time the Girlchild was in the air on her way back to Boulder, you see. A mother’s concentration is crucial to keeping that airplane on course and making sure it lands safely.
So now she’s on the ground, and I will be getting back to work shortly. As soon as I finish this post, and eat something, and stop feeling as if I’ve lost something precious. Because she isn’t lost, I know just where she is, and later this evening I’ll talk to her.
A couple quick things that occur to me in the last couple days:
Suddenly I am no longer compulsively checking the news wires. Has the country been delivered from evil? Are we back in economic and moral good health? No. But there are competent people working on things. It won’t be fast and it won’t be painless, but it feels now like there’s a good driver in charge. So that’s something big to be thankful for.
Also, I have been thinking about all the so-called rules that fiction writers are sworn to uphold by those who would instruct them. I’m one of the people who instruct, on occasion, so I don’t exempt myself from this. The thing is, all these rules (or ninety-nine percent of them) are not compulsory. They are, for the most part, a matter of fashion. Here’s one example of a rule that isn’t really a rule: headhopping, or moving from one character’s pov to another’s within the same scene.
But maybe you disagree. Or maybe you have another not-really-a-rule to mention.
And now, back to work.