That thing that happens, when at one point the thing I am writing is stuck and I am wondering why I ever committed to doing The Thing and I cannot make the leap to the next sentence or paragraph -
And then, not exactly suddenly, but within a short space of time, I am looking up and realising that the thing is pretty much finished, and there maybe a touch or a tweak left to do -
At some time the process gets out of the Slough of Despond and up the Hill Difficulty and the burden falls off (I'm going by the March sisters' Pilgrim's Progress game here) -
- or at some level my brain asks the Right Question that heals the Waste Land -
- or maybe I just do something like, not walking towards the obvious destination, as in Through the Looking Glass, where walking towards is walking away from -
So anyway, I think The Thing is done, and maybe the end result is not all happy bunnies, but it's there.
(And why is so short a piece such a struggle?)
I have also, having finally had back editorial comments on a chapter I submitted nearly a year ago, made the what I think are not entirely necessary additions (I think if I am quoting from one source in a single paragraph, one cite at the end is sufficient, I don't really need to add in cites to each quote, but what do I know). However, they had no complaints on the actual content, so I should not whinge.
And now, on to the Next Thing!
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