I find myself going back and forth. When I have a rough writing day, I wonder what the hell I am doing trying to write a book. When the words flow and everything "clicks," everything seems possible and within reach. Sometimes these feelings follow quickly on the heels of the other. It feels a bit bi-polar.
I think that the book is affecting me more than I initially realized. Last night I kept dreaming that I was trying to make it up this hill. At first I was on a bicycle trying to pedal up the steep incline and failing miserably. So, being a clever girl, I ditched the bike and tried to proceed on foot. However, gnarly trees then erupted from the earth, their branches thick and knotted, intertwining and barring my passage.
|My tangle of trees.|
As I struggled to claw my way through the tangled limbs, I kept hoping that someone would come and meet me half-way. Perhaps offer assistance. No one did.
Maybe that is why I am documenting this--to see if anyone will meet me half-way. Or perhaps it is so someone traveling behind me might avoid some of the snares that I encounter...maybe I am meant to be the one to stop along the way, retrace my steps, and venture back to meet another traveller.