The restlessness has hit, though alas the brain has obviously not fully regenerated yet. Which is to say, I really would like to be working--I'm fretful and bored and want to be creating things--but right now I have a first draft of "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood" and a second draft of Seven for a Secret and I have two-thirds of the first draft of Chill written, and they should really all be being worked on... but the inside of my skull is itching in that way that tells me that I need to let them sit and grow a little bit longer, until they present me with the answers to the dilemmas I've built into them.

This is the left-brain/right brain portion of the process.

Right now, what I'm doing ("I" in this case means that portion of my brain, the tippy top of the left neocortex, which thinks of itself as I and uses language and manipulates linear deductive logic) is waiting while all the other bits of my brain--which are also I, but do not think of themselves that way, and do not communicate in the kind of symbols that the portion of me that calls itself I finds congenial and easy to comprehend--sort out how the tricky bit of the story--the part that is currently represented by "And then a miracle occurs"--goes. When they've done that, they'll communicate the answer to me, and I'll sit down and write the last few bits of prose and be amazed at how simple that was, once I thought of it.

Hopefully maybe something back there is working on Chill, too, because I'd like it in the last part of the book grew soon, as I have to (you see) write it. And stuff. Right now, it's really waiting for it to ripen, so I can write something I can be proud of instead of barely-competent hackwork. 

You know, it's true. You can't wait for inspiration to strike. You have to be able to get down there in the trenches and slog through the words even when it's not flying along, because that's part of what being a professional means. But you also need to know when to give yourself a little time and room, to let things cook. Because it's possible to outrun your creativity, and at that point, you just have to wait until the fruit is ripe before you can eat it and not get sick. Sometimes this means setting limits on what the industry will demand from you. And sometimes it means setting limits on what you yourself will demand from you.

And the funny thing is, sometimes one fruit will ripen before another, even though both seem to be getting the same amount of sun. You can never really tell. It's just poking them until they smell right.

In the meantime, though, maybe what I need is a nap. Or a map. Or both.

Walked 4.5 miles this morning, so I am 90.5 miles from Lothlorien.