On Task

So this morning I'm lightheaded and a little nauseated, couldn't sleep last night, the people who are my best bets for answering lingering questions about the history of Medina County haven't returned my phone calls, it's too hot to catch up on housework, visitors coming on Saturday, and I'm suddenly aware of how little I know about camels - but -

But I can feel the story. She's growing. She's moving. She's kicking. When I sit down to write, even when I'm stupid from lack of sleep, even when I can't string the words together to evoke the details, I know where it's going and how it's developing, what happens here and how Len feels about it, how Di reacts to that. My conscious brain is often stymied but my subconscious brain is busily doing its job. So instead of writing into a blank space I'm writing up to a point and then tabbing over to do a websearch on camel harness, reading Twelfth Night (of course Len bought Twelfth Night at Gamble's Bookstore; whatever made me think she'd pick up Byron?) at lunch, roughing out the scene so I can come back to it when I'm smarter.

I'm not sure at what point I stopped researching and started writing. But it feels good.