Last Friday afternoon, after visiting with my mom, I drove to the ferry in Kingston only to find the Sound completely socked in by fog. The 4:40 ferry didn’t show up on time, and still hadn’t docked at 5:00. I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner in Seattle, and I gave her a call. Would the ferry come at all? How could it make its way through so much fog? (http://kuow.org/post/call-sound-romance-foghorns-endures)
And then, it arrived.
I assumed that the crossing would take a lot longer (and I worried we were going to collide with something), but it took only a few extra minutes. By 5:45 I was on my way to dinner.
Writing is like this, as E.L. Doctorow famously said in his Paris Review interview.
No matter what stage of the process I find myself in, I am never quite sure where I’m heading. Will it take a year to revise my novel? Two? Or two weeks? (!) If I stick with my commitment to write 200 words a day on my new batch of characters, will a story begin to emerge? Never mind worrying about the big outcomes (a publishing contract! a best seller! awards!), my job is simply to keep inching through the fog.