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 Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
| Writers talk about a novel having legs, and I finally understand what that means. It is the moment when the story stops dragging itself across the floor and starts walking on its own. Characters move without being pushed. Scenes unfold without being forced. The world feels alive enough to nudge me forward. When a novel has legs, I stop pulling it. It starts pulling me. I sit down to write, take a sip of coffee, and suddenly two hours pass. The ideas connect. The chapters grow. I even catch myself smiling at something a character said that I never planned. Of course, this stage does not appear out of nowhere. It takes a lot of early mornings and many cups of coffee. I think half my progress comes from caffeine and the other half from stubbornness. Some days the coffee keeps me awake long enough for the story to find its stride. Other days it simply keeps me from falling face-first into the keyboard. But when the novel finally stands up and walks, it feels worth every cup. It is a small victory. It tells me the story wants to be told. And once it has legs, all I have to do is keep up. |
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