I’ve been going about my life, going to work, cooking dinner, reading books, watching television… living my life, with my novel sitting beside me at all times trying to get it past the current (now most-recent) scene. All the time I’ve been feeling some for not writing but I’ve just been stuck. Not stuck because I’ve not known where the story is going, but just because I’ve not known how much of the reason why things are like they are to reveal.
I’ve worked that now and written the what only amounts a couple of hundred words that takes meonto the next stage. And now of course I’mliving my story again instead of it.