Rabbit.
Well, I gave in and sent sections one and two off to my parents. Immediately, all my words lifted up, free of the page and floated, luminous in the night. It kept me awake for hours. My scenes all played out in the dark and I thought, it's right.
I shouldn't be writing like this, because it'll trigger some intense anxiety later. But I don't care.
My story is good. It's a good story. It's the way it should be. It's not intellectual or reserved or dry. It couldn't be, because I'm not that way. If I tried writing that way, it would be false. This story that I wrote, it's imaginative, unexpected, full of emotion and drama; it's entirely of myself.
If I had never written this story, it never would have existed in all the world. That must be the central joy to any creative act. It's a profound joy and I just feel certain we can feel this joy because we were made in the image of our own Creator. It's just so interesting to think that He took so much joy in creating us, that He wanted to pass on to us an ability to experience that feeling in much, much smaller and mostly harmless ways.
We are driving down to Georgia today, to look at houses. I have to get my head in gear for that. I'm already starting to feel really intense bouts of irritability concerning all the upsets in my routine lately. (And, alright, I admit, from hormones too. Hormones from pregnancy or period, I don't know yet. I suspect my period, to be honest.) But it would be just so embarrassing if I turned into some kind of drama queen.
I am excited to look at houses, but I'll tell you a silly truth; if I could send Keith down alone to pick out a house, I would. I'd stay up here writing.
Oh, and I figured it out. I figured out how to increase the suspense in the last quarter of the story without triggering Ceallach to go back to Tir na nOg. It's so ridiculously simple that I don't know how I didn't see it before. He's an ironsmith. He'll have already fashioned iron for Phillipa to wear, she'll just have to continue wearing it in her world, after the dream. Because even Ceallach couldn't suspect that a vengeful faerie would take his child, because he's not thinking of his child as being human, and faeries never snatch up other faerie's children, just the human ones.
Voila.
