I’ve been stuck in a manuscript for about a year.
It’s been sad and frustrating: What if I never get back to it and all those beautiful characters languish and then just shrivel up and disappear, like those forfeited souls kept by Disney’s sea witch, Ursula??
But I’ve also known that I just had to wait, that there was something I was missing without which I couldn’t carry on writing the story.
Then, in the midst of musing that someday I’ll write a seven-book series akin to “Harry Potter” it hit me:
What if Daphne not only doesn’t have to leave Extraordinaria in a month but she spends seven years (and seven books) there?
What if she actually doesn’t have to grow up too soon?
What if it’s a better deal (and bigger adventures) than Narnia?
Somewhere in this big house I feel a door swing open.
A breeze blows through and stirs the air.
The story moves, flutters, begins to wake.