chapter nine - sarah's first appearance in the novel after the prologue - is rough and raw, but there...and so far... i like it. the scenes are sketchy, but etched out enough that they form a sufficient frame upon which to lace the flesh.
chapter ten is stewing. i can feel the characters churning, hear snippets of dialogue. like a movie unfurling in stop action, it rises and falls, spooling into coherence, then swirling away into chaos. i have to let it cook.
there is a rhythm to these intense writing days, a rhythm i accept grudgingly, a rhythm dictacted in part by the limitations of my body, the demands of the external world.
but it is also dictated by She Who Makes the Cauldron Spin, the Muse who sends the words that bubble in my brain. the Story comes in Her time, and not in mine.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.