I promised myself a real writing session this weekend if I got snowed in and was allowed to cancel plans. It's Sunday. The day I typically choose for planned writing sessions. I was nervous. I had only worked on outlining and pieces of far future scenes since Christmas.

The chapter took longer than expected to finish. What I thought would take a page at the most ended up taking two and a half pages and most of the day to write. The scene morphed in interesting ways, and the lines I had been struggling to find a transition for found their way in naturally this time.

There's a lot of talk about forcing yourself to write, but I'm glad I waited until I was ready to come back to it. Yes, it was still scary. I can get anxious about basically anything. But I knew it was the right time. I knew I was well rested. I was ready.

There's nothing wrong with waiting for the right moment. As long as you are able to recognize it when it comes. I wish you a lot of right moments. ❤