Answers on a Pogo Stick

I woke up this morning at five am.  Unusual for me if I am not jet lagged.  I have been rolling a writing problem from the second book around in my brain for a while now.  Not a huge problem; not a messy problem but a niggling wiggling problem that creeps up on me when I am brushing my teeth.  And at five am this morning, the answer appeared.  Bang, like a gift on the doorstep.  Boxed, ribboned and addressed to me.

I was astonished.  I have never been a writer who expects the answer to come bouncing along on a pogo stick.  I believe in making a decision and if sixty pages (yes sixty--this actually happened while writing Nell) it is the wrong decision, go back and unravel it.  I find an odd sort of comfort in the mechanical workmanship of writing.  Sounds dreadfully unromantic but there it is.  I like the piecing and puzzling.  Puzzling is such a good Dr. Seuss word.

But here it was.  The answer was simple, manageable, small but important.  There was not enough city.  Not enough huff and puff and clip and clop.  Not enough hustles and bustles and cobbles and cakes.  And so I am putting them in...