The level of trust demanded by the writing muses is staggering. Every time I feel I’m writing a significant moment (which always feels more like I’m documenting something happening before me, but that’s a whole separate post) I rarely know why, but I feel weight of the scene. Then, hundreds or thousands of words later, the “ah hah!” moment clubs me in the back of the head and I’ll know why that scene needed to stay.
I just hate not knowing ahead of time. The engineer and scientist in me lives in a petri dish of reason and fact, and is at odds with the artist, who happily burns brightly in a crucible of creative energy.