This is the last leg of the trip, pulling into their road after an hour and fifteen minutes of mostly highway driving. The inclination to speed is always there, but the grace on a midday Friday is that there is too much traffic on the road and it rained on an off all the way. So, I just fall into line, hang back a bit, and just be semi-aware of what the other assholes are up to. Be the rock in the river. Let the music flow low. Don't get pulled over.
The writing/driving reflex is back in a big way. I struggled all week with a scene that was fully fleshed but seemed to have no purpose. "No legs" is the best way to describe it. I knew Jack and Daniel needed to interact and thought I knew how and why, but I was wrong.
I wasn't on the road five minutes and the entire scene came together over a few missing elements and more importantly, its place in the story, the timing of the thing, was revealed. I pulled over and took a page of notes rather than let this one get away.
Who does this revealing and how does it happen? All I know is that, for me, the complex yet subliminal task of driving seems to clear a space for other ways of thinking through a problem.
