My writers’ weekend was fantastic. We did all the usual things and even the weather cooperated. It was supposed to be gloomy and in the 40s, but we got sun and 50s. I was able to do my “thinking walks” and “thinking paddles” and my friends and I all got lots of writing done.
I’ve also reached a spot where I’m no longer confident about what comes next. I’m usually a combination of plotter and pantser. I start with a plot and though I often deviate when a better idea hits, I’m always aware of the overall arc that I planned out at the beginning. This time, it feels different, as if the right ending is behind a wall of fog. I can’t see ahead and it’s a little unsettling. But one thing I’m taking away from this weekend is that I can trust these characters. I have a hunch that if I keep moving forward, one scene at a time, they’ll do better things than if I try to follow the outline.
It’s a little weird and a little scary, but it also feels like some sort of breakthrough. Or is it the euphoria a bungee jumper feels just before she realizes the cord is a tad long?