Inspiration

My husband sits at his laptop, his fingers moving so fast that the clicks almost sound as one. He had inspiration for the editorial from a sentence in a report that he had just read.

During the past two days I've been working on my second draft (of many to come) for my novel Lexington. My first drafts are always so rough, one might suggest I find another passion than writing. It is the 3rd, 5th, 10th and on where I am satisfied it is the best that it can be.

Thus yesterday, in my second draft, details came rushing out and when I added paragraphs it amazed me that they slipped smoothly into place not just a place, but a perfect place.

I was also making notes for ideas that were tumbling out my brain, to add later in the book.

Maybe there is something in the Sahara Sand that is turning the European skies orange increasing our inspiration quotient, although both my husband and I find inspiration in all kinds of weather conditions.

Because we are professional writers, we cannot always wait for that magic moment when words flow effortlessly. There are times we chase words around our brain convinced they have buried themselves in a neuron and hung out a "Do Not Enter" sign. 

We plug on anyway.

My husband reads his editorial to me. It is brilliant. Each word adds and builds to the whole.

I have had hand surgery and he's been doing all the chores. This morning I put laundry on, but he'll have to do the dryer. I say, I feel badly that I am doing so little.

"You are writing," he says. 

For us, it covers it all with or without inspiration.