Thinking is weird. I have done it for a living for the last thirty years but it’s still weird to me. There’s just something indolent seeming about sitting at your desk and staring off into space. Especially when you’re not being very productive. I’ve developed a nervous habit of typing notes periodically while I think just to provide external signs of life.
The reason I’m thinking so much today is that I had an epiphany at two o’clock this morning – one of those loud ones that wakes you up with the answers to everything that’s been troubling you about the latest draft – and I now know what I’m going to do with the next draft of the fantasy novel I put aside a few months ago. In the sense that I know the direction and basic plot changes and the ending. I still have to write it.
And that’s what I’m thinking about today. All day. Over breakfast. Walking the dog. Going to the grocery store. Down to get the mail. While I’m typing this sentence. I’m just so drenched in all this possibility that my forebrain processes are dragging down the rest of my mental capacity. As a result, I’ve been traveling through my day far slower and far more deliberately than I usually do. I didn’t even drive like a maniac on the way to the store.
This isn’t a page one rewrite, exactly. It’s more like a page 100 rewrite, but more importantly, it’s not a blank canvas. It’s a coloring book outline with a large empty space in the middle for connect-the-dots. This will be the fifth and final draft of the fantasy novel. All else after this will be polishing and editing. It’s been a long journey, going on two years now with another six months to go, but I feel like the tumbler has finally exposed a gem.