Life can seem so complicated.
It is, until my four-year old gd starts chatting. We watched FotR (part two) tonight. She is firmly convinced that if we do the 'Blue Skiddoo, you can too' in the part where Boromir is tempted by the ring, we can save him.
That life could be that simple.
Perhaps it is. Perhaps I look too deeply. Considering all the ramifications of trying to make the 'perfect' book, I discover I have lost sight of the joy of writing.
I started a new book, to help me through the self-doubt that comes with crossing out scads of material, trying to accept my editor's red-marked changes (too much red), and retain some semblance of sanity. Writing always does that. I think that's what I like best about it. Never a dull moment, never sure of what's going to happen next, falling in love with my characters.
Writing gives me stability in an ever-changing world. Gives me joy when world news leaves me shell-shocked. Gives me faith that there will be a tomorrow.
Life can be wondrous.