A couple of days ago I felt a bit - sneezy. And then, quite frankly, my head hurt some, but I felt I could still maneuver my regular day. That was until yesterday. What I thought was merely - hay fever
- was something else, a cold.
Maybe you've been through this very same scenario, thinking one thing when in fact it was another. I have gravitated to much more sneezing and coughing and feeling miserable since then, but I'm not telling you this to complain.
Seems to me, even in writing, we aren't quite sure what we're writing at times, but we go will the flow (pardon my pun) simply because the words are coming and we are on a roll. I had this happen with my first book, A River of Stones. I thought, quite frankly, that I was merely recording my thoughts about how it felt to have parents divorce, when in fact I had begun to outline, even to write sections, of my first book.
I have thought the same thing as I've begun writing prompts in writing classes, thought about those Nancy Drew mystery books I read as a teenager (weren't they great, and wouldn't a mystery be a fine thing to write?) I have begun one thing, only to realize it was really another - even a publishable other.
When it comes to hay fever, I can live through that, though my eyes may drip and my throat my fog up. I can even live with a full blown cold - especially if it takes me somewhere else, because that somewhere else is exactly where I want to be.