This Happened

The rain came and came. I might have gone out, but I stayed in. I sat on the couch and not at my desk, and I closed my eyes, and I thought. The issue was, How will I finish this novel I'm writing? What is the final scene, and how do I get there?

I hadn't asked before because I needed not to know. I needed the making of this novel to be urgent, powered by wanting, by uneasiness, angst. I needed to wake to not knowing, to that desire to find out, and I did, I woke to that, but most days I ...