As the gears turn

Even though I'm not working on the novel during the week, I'm still thinking about it. More to the point, my subconscious is hard at work. Tuesday morning in the wee hours, I woke up and realized I'd figured out the solution to a choreographic problem in my climax. The interesting thing is this: I didn't know the details of the solution; I awoke with the conviction that my subconscious had it all figured out, and that I need only begin writing to find out the solution. Back in the dorms, people would be calling me an airhead right about now (or worse), but I suspect the writers in my audience know what I'm talking about. Yesterday morning, I woke up with a better understanding of one of my villains' motivations, and I had several snippets of dialog spinning around in my mind, too. Again, this is not too terribly unusual, although it hasn't happened in an awfully long while. I'm somewhat suspicious of these little gifts. This used to happen all the time back when I was writing my aborted novel Karakoram, so often that I kept a spiral notebook around to jot down these flashes of supposed brilliance. In retrospect, much of this stuff has all the radiance of the ideas you get while stoned. I sometimes wonder (A) what my muse is doing up there, and (B) why she won't share any of the good shit with me. But I shouldn't give her such a hard time. When I open my manuscript at random, I'm usually delighted with what I see. This is either (A) a very good sign, or (B) further evidence of terminal egomania. Close . . . so very close to the end. I don't know what the very last scene will be. I don't even want to go there. Gotta have faith in the muse. D.