Why did people try to shush trouble away as if it were an unruly child?
Writing, for me, is always a dance between the critical part of my brain and the subconscious.
We grow, we mature, some of us give birth, we age, we die.
I never know where I'm headed when I'm working on a book.
We are like flowers always reaching up towards some shred of light. I find this wondrous, nearly magical, certainly brave.
In fact, not knowing is a necessary condition of writing for me. I don't know how else to reach something unexpected. I have to be as in the dark as my characters.