For the past few days I've been writing new scenes for my first book, The Worlds. It's going well.
Writing fiction is always a magical process. I don't know when I'll write, how I'll write or what I'll write. I have plans but they go out the window the moment I begin.
Without warning, the urge to write hits me and I rush to the computer and I'm writing. Almost on its own, the writing continues in a mad rush until the scene is finished. And if I'm on a roll I don't stop. I just write another scene and then another one until there's no more writing left in me, and I collapse like a rag doll.
Writers make detailed plans all the time; I do it too. But then the writing happens and the plans go out the window. I say this all the time: I am not in control when I write. It's something else, something beyond consciousness that does the work. (Now, don't go thinking spirits or god nonsense; it's just Phil). However it happens, it feels damn good to write.
As a result of adding the new scenes, one of my main characters in the first book is now involved in an unusual romance. And in the process, the first book (which I confess was sinfully short in its first incarnation) is packing on pounds -- good pounds, I might add. This isn't just book obesity.
Anyway, good things are happening. I'm so thankful that I'm a writer.