Yes, that's how it goes sometimes.
I finished Thirty-one last week (I think...maybe it was last month). Sat on it. I was about to send it off to see what C thought. I re-read what I'd written, and it sounded sooooo much like an earlier chapter. Massive fabrications by Maribeth to the officers about to arrest happy-go-lucky Marvin outside the mansion for drunkenness. A mental oops! So, I cut the offending pages from the doc and pasted them into my Cut Pages doc. My narrative is getting too clipped, too, like I've forgotten how to paint scene all of the sudden. So, now I get to go back into the Working Draft and start the scene all over. How, I ask myself constantly, do the really good writers do it? Make it all flow so seamlessly, as though I'm walking through the trees and down the paths, under the stormy skies with the narrator? Gosh, sometimes this seems impossible.
C sent me her first 116 pages along with a chapter outline. I'm going to try to analyze the plot, the flow, the language, her voice--is it fresh? Intriguing? That's a lot of work, and I'm not even sure I'm capable anymore.
Yes, I am. I am. You have to wake up sometime.
I can do it, just the same as I can finish Thirty-one and make it sing as it moves the story onward.
Work. Living. I'm buried. Clients to meet with, design the new rooms, draw the plans. Duh...sub out the cabinetry to other shops. Co-ordinate. Manage.
The magic happens when I force my fingers down onto the keys and watch as the words pop up on the screen. Consistently.