Remember the old vaudeville act? Where the entertainer tosses plates upon sticks and gets them spinning? All of a sudden, he's got five or six plates balancing and whirling at electric speed. His wrists flick and twitch, touching the rim of each platter, keeping plates balanced and in motion as they sit atop delicate sticks. And he moves frantically, never allowing a sphere to slow its spin, and the plates merely whirl away while our actor races from plate to plate, keeping the objects in motion.
Moments before, our entertainer had been standing silently, calmly, simply smiling at the audience. Now he's a frantic hot mess trying to make it look effortless. The plates simply spin.
The new storyline in The Novel keeps tugging at my heart. Brilliant Agent was right in her suggestion. In stolen moments I hunkered down to write, feeling like it wasn't enough. Yet I kicked out almost twenty pages of new words last week in the midst of my plate-spinning. New words on white paper! I've looked around my new-ish home and it is good. I see the new sub plot and I am pleased. Things are falling together, like the Big Bang of creation where order comes from chaos. In one big cruel April, all my plate-spinning actually paid off.
I realized that in these frantic bursts of busy-ness, I got things done—including my writing. The days of the smiling Mrs.-Peaceful-Stay-at-Home-Writer-Mom are over. I do better when I'm at my busiest. I write more, I think faster, and it all comes together. I don't need another plate to introduce itself into my act, but somehow I know those additional plates are coming. What can I say? Bring it on.