Every time I start writing a book

it's as if I've never written one before.  I forget how hard the early days are.  I do too much research, overcrowd my head, rush toward those bits of plot I know, leave too little room for language.



Then I remember what it is to take it slow.  To back it up.  To make the story, line by line.  To allow an afternoon to pass without writing a single word.  It's all right, I remember, to sit here dreaming.  It's fine—in fact, it is essential—to write what I won't use to discover what I will. 



Will the game of pitch and toss stay?



I don't know. 



Will Molly return the penny? 



It might not matter, after all.



Except that it all matters.  It's process. [image error]