Well, I’ve found the place I should move to and become a full-time writer. Three days into a one-week vacation, I’ve written 6,500 words in about an hour and a half each day, and all of it I really, really like. I sit out on the deck and gaze out over the lake, watch the bald eagles fly by and soak up the sun, and my brain, free from all the distractions of home, gets to writing like a house on fire. I think if I could live here full-time (with the added benefit of family to babysit) I could write four times as fast as I’m used to, and better quality, to boot. I’m definitely going to see if I can find a way to come back here when it’s time to revise my first draft. It’s so easy to be happy and well-rested and stress-free here.
I’m about to reach a point where I’m not quite sure what exactly comes next, which I’m actually not dreading for once, because I want to see what my relaxed and unencumbered mind comes up with to fill that gap. And while I often listen to music while I write, and always when I’m looking for inspiration, I haven’t been this week, and the ideas are still flowing. Maybe the change of stimulation has made me look at things in a different way? I’m also finally starting to feel like I’m moving closer to the climax. I’m not nearly there yet, but I’d say I’m entering into the last third. Which, seeing as how I’m at almost 77,000 words, is probably a really good thing.