Hit another wall. Friends showed up this weekend, and I took time to go out with them. Lifting up out of the story like that has made it hard to go back in, charging forward, as I was. Fear is up. What am I doing? What do I know? How can I write new material? What if it isn't good? On and on.
It takes a lot of courage to write a story, and this one is an especially big one. And now I've added some new things when my editor wants it as lean as possible. But it's the only way I know to answer some of the questions she asks. Today, I don't want to write, I want to crawl under the covers and ignore everything. But when you fall off a horse (as if I ride horses! Houston may be in Texas, but it's a city!), the old saying is to get back on. What on earth made me create such a big, restless stallion?
Sometimes I think I've forgotten how to write. The first story I wrote took me a long time to create and craft, but I didn't question myself once it was finished. I believed in it. I'm not as bold anymore.

Comments
I wrote much of my dissertatin--a biography--in the archives of TWU Library in Denton and had to write in the archive room. Amazing concentration and intensity. Wonderful--even the back and forth to Dallas didn't disrupt the continuity. But oh, give up one day to friends and it was like starting over. I HEAR YOU.