Flirt-bombing my wife via text. Playing music. The good life.
With my new novel done and in the “will anyone publish this thing I adore” limbo phase as my agent reads it, I’m in the creative freefall that happens between major projects.
I do a kind of active space-out: not quite brainstorming, not quite waiting for inspiration. Like trying to dream on purpose, feel out ideas, reject a hundred things, wait for the one that glows.
I start with character, and I have one now, and she’s a she, and I’m feeling her out, getting to know her. And then tonight a world sprang up around her and it all feels good and weird and lushly promising.
Do good in the world. The world needs it, and the butterfly effect is real.
“Don’t take it personally” is the best unlivable advice around.