If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans–Woody Allen

A week ago, I had reached character nirvana.  I couldn’t write quickly enough.  The path of my newest book was laid out in front of me like a literary smorgasbord.  Less than 24 hours after my last post, I took a tumble down a flight of steps.  Not on purpose, of course; the steps just got in my way of safely making it from the second floor to the ground level of my home.  I spent the next several days in pain and misery, covered in bruises and skin tears and, in general, hating life.  I didn’t touch my computer once.  My characters languished, stranded in the creek in which I had left them, waiting for direction.  As I returned to my book for the first time in days, I was irritated and frustrated that I needed to find that sweet spot in my writing again.  I know I’ll get back there but I hate losing control over my life and my writing.  We like to define ourselves as writers, but sometimes we are reminded that we are above all humans; clumsy, easily-bruised humans.