A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Six-Hundred-And-Thirteen

Tonight, for whatever reason, I have been finding it very easy to do my writing.  It happens sometimes, and I think it has, as well, been one of the times when the work is actually good and not just rushed.  Indeed, I have not been rushing at all.  I just have been in the right mental state, I suppose.  I would like to believe that this might be a sign, that I might be moving forwards in my work and tonight is a step in that process.  I do not feel that way simply because I had less difficulty with the writing tonight, or maybe I do.  I know I have been struggling a fair bit the last few weeks, not entirely, but consistently.  I've been finding myself feeling a lot of uncertainty and doubt about various pieces I've been working on, and wondering if I really know how to approach any of it, and tonight, I just sort of accepted that I don't know and that maybe that is part of the process right now, or can be, at least.  As a writer, I am fascinated by ways of crafting fiction in ways that connect it to the real world, that weave aspects of that fictional experience together with the events of life outside the story, and there is a way in which it feels like acknowledging these parts of my process within the work itself may reveal new ways of doing that, and ways that feel more genuine, even, perhaps, raw.  Of course, I may just be having a good night and mistaking that for something more, but I hope not.  Perhaps, just by believing that a transition is beginning to occur, I am instigating it.  That would be fine, too.