The latest bit was an essay from which she had pulled the end quote:
"Go up to the place in the bookstore where your books will go.... Walk right up and find your place on the shelf. Put your finger there, and then go every time."
Sometimes I forget, when I'm writing, that the end result will be a place in a bookstore. This week, in particular, which was a whiplash in terms of productivity. Last week ended in a rush of writing, culminating in writing through the night Saturday. And then the story stopped.
I'm not panicked (yet) because I'm far enough into this book that I know that's how it wants to be written - in explosive bursts of imagination followed by periods of rest, where my brain recharges. I'm not panicked (yet) because the previous times this has happened with this book means that the story engine is gearing up to give me the next piece of the plot. I need the next piece of the plot, because I'm also far enough into the book where I can see the edges of the shape and color of the ending, and I need to figure out how to get there from here, how to stop adding complications and wrap up the ones I already have, and the path between isn't an easy or a pleasant one, for the characters or for me.
And I'm not panicked, not really, even though it's been almost a week since I've written a new word on The Widening Gyre because my brain decided it was done percolating the werewolf idea, and gave me the title and the opening and the very angry pov character for my Little Red Werewolf short story, and I am getting writing done on something, at least.
And I'm not panicked, because I can see my place on the shelf. And I know there will be books there.