When I first started writing, I didn't have a whole story in mind.
I wasn't that organized. But I had scenes that I would hammer out and then
re-read and re-work until I thought they were exactly what I wanted.
While I was driving my kids to their various sports' practices I
would get an idea. Then during the practice, I would write on scraps of paper.
Time went by. Actually three years of time. I was no closer to the end of the
book than I was at the beginning.
One day while I was outside, all 12 inches of my great novel flew
apart. It was all over the yard. Paper by paper my kids and their friends
picked it all up. It was then that I realized as I tried to put it back
together without page numbers, of course, that my book was not actually coming
together.
I wasn't sure what to do about it.
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