Well, I’ve done the scene – thank goodness –
but I’m struggling with a bad arm, brought on I think by too much sewing
(tugging at seams while I unpick them) which makes typing painful, so I won’t
say too much here.
The scene wrote itself in the end as they
always do. I’d been trying to do it one way, but my subconscious wanted to do
it another way. The subconscious is always right. The skill lies in accessing
the subconscious, in recognising its messages and distinguishing them from
those of the conscious mind.
And trusting them. Sometimes you can see no
further than the next word. But you have to write it just the same.
Is that or isn’t that a metaphor for life?
(Stop me if I’m getting pretentious.)
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