He held still for almost three seconds

It took two years, but I finally brought in one of the bigger butterflies to my office garden. It was the bee balm that did it, and though I know it’s not a good idea to attract birds and butterflies to the same area, I did it anyway–the bee balm is there for the humming birds, too. And the bees. Wow, they are so intent I can brush right by them, knock them off the flower, and they just don’t care.

Yesterday was an odd one at my desk, and I have a feeling I’m looking at my new normal for about a couple of weeks.  The chapter I did yesterday is done and in the cabinet, and I’ll be moving on to the next one today. It’s in no way, shape, or form, finished, though. This story has so many aspects to it, and I know I’m just brushing the surface. I can’t get it all down in one go. It would not only be too exhausting (mentally) but I’m not sure of the pacing of it, so it’s one of those cases where you have to get the story on paper before you can go back and put in the real stuff: the stuff that matters at the end of the day, the stuff that keeps you wondering, because you, as the reader, know there will be some sense of closure about the hard plot of saving the world, but the soft plot of emotions and self-growth? Yeah, that’s what makes it good. And with Grace, the story is there, you just can’t see it yet.

I’m closing my office door at the end of the day somewhat frustrated, knowing it’s not done, but having to be satisfied with what I’ve got and pressing on in the morning. And it’s not going to get any better until I finish this first run through, so I’d better get used to it. –laugh–