My daughter and her boyfriend are Wyoming musicians, and they are traveling along the West Coast this week. Earlier in August they performed at an Oregon music festival, after which they texted a travel update. They had been trying to decide if they’d head north to Portland or south toward northern California before heading back home.
“Which direction will you go?” I texted back.
“We’ll know when we get on the road,” came the reply.
It occurred to me that fiction writing is kind of like that, at least for me. I may have an outline and a general idea which way to go, but I’m never entirely sure what will happen until I get on the road.
About six months ago, a good friend who had just purchased a new home posted this on Facebook: “I just looked up Providence. It means ‘the protective care of God.’ This is…
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