I have been thankful how easy it is not to stress over what’s (not) happening with my novel.

I have reached the conclusion that I cannot do the next/final clean-up piecemeal.  For the sake of continuity (and other issues I have identified with the text) I’ve decided I absolutely have to have a serious “work week” where I work the novel from start to finish.

So naturally I have to wonder am I just sick of it and happy to move on, since I’m not even talking about it any more.  Then I got to talk it a bit today with someone (I don’t meet many people in real life who want to hear me talk stories, so I was pleased to get a chance to talk about something interesting).

I explained a purposeful contrast between men (and how I tried to illustrate their differing character) by how they took care of a toddler:

Kennett, the “hero,” and a good man, carries his adopted son on his shoulders and remembers to stoop as he goes through a doorway.  Ivan, who wants to think of himself as a good man, scoops up a child on his way out the door and just *nails* the boy’s head on the lintel.
These are on opposite ends of the story, so I don’t know if anyone will notice the direct contrast.

But even though that kind of conversation used to set me back onto my novel in the next hour, I actually forgot about the story until this evening when I set down to try and update the family blog a bit.  I turned on Pandora and picked my “noveling” station (since that is not something I’ll play with the children around).

And, wow.  I am conditioned. (Yes I know I’ve mentioned this before.)

I was nearly in my writing trance before I realized I was going under.  I let myself listen to a couple songs before I decided I didn’t want to inoculate myself and switched stations.

But now I’m stoked and actually have to make myself go to bed.  It is a genuine relief that (it appears) at the right time I will be able to return with a relatively small transition.