I hate writing when I don't know where I'm going.

The chapter I'm working on now, my protagonist is in a lot of trouble, he's literally sick with despair, he's reached the point where his imminent death is more of a relief than a worry.

And then someone is going to come and save him, and she'll explain some things and give him, essentially, the swift kick in his butt that he needs to motivate himself to get out of his situation.

Fair enough. And I've worked out who swathes of what she's going to say, once she gets there. I didn't think getting her there would actually be a problem.

But it is. Because the whole thing is from his point of view, you understand, and it's affecting my writing. He's dragged down and listless and the writing is just heavy and awful, and nevermind that it accurately captures his feelings, no reader is going to be willing to plough through it to get past it.

So, I'm stuck.

But then last night while I was in the shower, we had a thunderstorm. Our lights went out for a short while, and came back on, and then went out for a little longer, and then came back on. Matt came upstairs to leave a flashlight shining on the sink counter for me, in case they went out for good.

But the lights stayed on, and just as I was rinsing the last of the conditioner out of my hair, I figured out how to fix it.

And the solution has nothing to do with the storm or the flickering lights, as near as I can tell, except that standing there in the dark, taking an otherwise perfectly normal shower, felt so surreal that it must have jolted my brain.

Whatever the cause, I feel better about it. I'm hoping to get at least the outline of it done this morning, before I leave for the daycare center's Mother's Day shindig.

It should be a good weekend, as I mentioned yesterday. Hope yours is, too!

--Liz