About twenty years ago, I came to the conclusion that it would be easier to write than not to write, easier to do the work, than not to do the work.
So, I do the work.
Some of the time the work does not go well.
Actually, a lot of the time the work does not go well.
I do it any way.
And then, there are those times (after days and weeks and months of the work not going well) when a story will suddenly, unexpectedly, open.
It is like trailing around after a peacock, hoping that he will fan his feathers.
When you least expect it, when you have stopped hoping, stopped believing, it happens.
The feathers unfold and you catch sight of some radiant beauty.
You think: I will follow this bird anywhere.
And you will. You do.