writing

It’s such a great feeling when the words flow onto the screen almost of their own volition. My fingers might be typing, but it’s as though they’re not there, as though my brain is feeding directly into the computer.

All writers know that feeling of being “one” with their story. The joy of it is wonderful – it keeps you writing through those hard times when your plot falls apart, when your characters won’t “come alive”, when every word you write feels like it’s being dragged from the deepest part of your psyche, reluctant to come into the world in case it’s the wrong one.

For the past week my story has been flowing. I’m hesitant to even say those words in case the well of creativity dries up overnight. Ellie is right where she needs to be, both physically and emotionally, Cass is her usual solid and dependable self, and Kandy is entering that scary land where wives doubt every word their husband utters.

We’ve had so much rain that when evening falls we feel like we’re living in Swamp Hollow. Frogs everywhere! Big and small green ones, fat mottled brown and cream ones about the size of a 50c coin that I call cranky frogs because if they’re not happy with something their croak has a distinctively angry tone, long brown-striped ones with skinny legs, and I haven’t pinpointed the ones that sound like they are sending out Morse code. Although the noise makes watching television a problem, it’s a delight to know that if the number of frogs is an indication, the health of our little patch in the world is quite good.