For a week or so now, I have been stuck on my new book. My main character needed to be in danger, but from what? This didn’t work, that was unbelievable. What to do? Finally, in frustration, I went back and read from the beginning of the story, and there they were—the vicious “edge dwellers” who had appeared and disappeared in an early chapter. Perfect villains, frightening and dangerous, and they were there all along.
I think we writers write more into our stories than we even know, not because our characters take over or we are channeling someone or because there is a muse at work. I think we do it ourselves, unwittingly, because we are preparing ourselves for surprise. We merely find what we planted there, the unconscious gifts we give ourselves. So I am for the moment unstuck and ready to deal with those vile edge dwellers.