I interrupt this novel-writing for a brief excursion

It’s pedal to the metal, and in more ways than one

Actually, I’m not interrupting the writing at all. I carry my tools with me and work wherever I am, usually before anyone else is awake.

But this afternoon I am driving to Minnesota for an old friend’s birthday. It will be a very brief trip. but you can only put your life on hold for so long, and sometimes being out in the world is fodder for the book, too. Or at minimum, a refresher.

I’ve had an extraordinary couple of days of writing. As I wind up the novel—and it is winding up—I sat down on Monday to write a pivotal scene. I stared at the page. Did a crossword puzzle. Got up and moved to my office upstairs. Came down and made a cup of tea. Went back up and stared at the screen. Came down and complained to my husband.

He was, as always, my most helpful advisor. “Maybe you’re having difficulty because of the way you’ve been portraying the character.” I went back upstairs mumbling to myself, because he was right, as usual. I had been trying to make the scene I wanted, not the scene that the book wanted. I did another crossword.

At 4 pm, at the time of day I am normally well and truly finished, when Eli has begun his ritual campaign of meaning glances, nudges, pawings, and unsubtle hints that he wants his dinner, my husband left the house for some event, and I stared again at my screen. Suddenly the writing started. Note the passive voice. It was as if a cloud of words swarmed over me and settled on the page.

Six pages later, the scene was finished. It was nothing I had planned for or envisioned. It was not something I expected. But it was exactly new and exactly right: whole, complete, sprung fully formed.

I read it aloud to my husband as he was driving home later that night. “Where did this come from?” he asked.

I have no idea. But this wild mystery is part of the magic of writing. It is an open portal to some other reality that the writer neither fully understands nor controls. Scoff if you like—I have—but it’s a phenomenon other writers have described: an incomprehensible—bordering on magical—spiritual experience.

Kind of makes all the rest of it worthwhile.

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Since it is unlikely you are available to dog sit or cook dog food, there are other ways you can help support my work: You can become a paid subscriber (see below), and you can also purchase my books—even pre-order the new novel, Throwing Bears for George—at your favorite bookseller. Some of my favorite shops are Honest Dog Books, Boswell Book Company, Mystery to Me Books, Books and Company, Barbara’s Bookstores, Barnes & Noble, Target, and, of course, here. My illustrated children’s book, My Dog Pete is available only here. Thank you!

Paid subscribers will have access to previews of the new novel.

And now for your gratuitous dog photo:

Auggie is in one of his soulful moods this morning. He slept against me all night, which is unusual. Today while I am gone, Dad is taking him—and Eli—to the lake. It will be a happy, happy day.