I have really become a fan of the "let it come to me" school of writing. I was quite recently stuck on the last several scenes of my new Santa play. The last scenes of any play are so important, and I knew what I'd written was weak and flabby, but didn't see how to fix any of it.
Instead of wrestling with the scenes, I decided instead to just go about my life. I baked cookies, took walks, Zoomed with friends, watched Ken Burns' remarkable series about jazz, did the laundry, etc. I didn't give writing a thought. At least, not a conscious thought. But the play must have been in there brewing, because last night, as I was dancing my ass off, of course, I suddenly saw it, the answer to the question of what sorts of beings Mr. and Mrs. Santa are. That cleared the way for me to start working on the play again.
Of course, I'm not going to tell what my discovery was. But it's really good. I would go into my office to make notes, then, as I would go back to dancing, I was actually clapping my hands with joy. I'm always just a little bit blue when I'm working on a play that isn't flowing smoothly, and always just a little bit golden when I see what I need to see to keep writing.
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