I keep rearranging the furniture in the living room. We've lived in this house for almost six years, and I still can't get it just right. I can't decide the focal point. Is it the sofa, the flat screen TV, the fireplace, the photos of my sons-- what? It depends on the configuration. That's kind of where I am with the book. I've come a long way since last year. But now, I have pages and chapters and scenes in a folder on my computer appropriately labeled "Book"... but I'm still trying to figure out how it all fits. I'm about to check the ink and send it all to the printer. Then, I'm going to spread the story across the living room floor and try to put this puzzle together.
It occurred to me recently that I've been hyperfocused on one particular event, without being fully clear on how it affects the whole story. It's like last week, when I took a picture of the Angel Oak, and I had to keep backing up to get the 1,500-year-old tree in the frame.
Perhaps what I'm experiencing with writing the book can be applied to life in general. Sometimes we need distance to fully understand. And sometimes, we can't "think" our way out of the maze. We have to rely on our intuition and trust where it's taking us, even if we can't see the big picture just yet.