And I didn't see it. Until now. It hit me like a sledgehammer. Perhaps it was the accumulation of frustrations over not knowing what I was doing, perhaps it was just time. I don't know what it was, but I know that I won't be able to go back to how I used to write.

I used to dump an emotional mess on paper and then dig in it, sleeves rolled up, scraping out and cleaning and polishing something solid that I've stumbled upon, never knowing for sure if I should be digging deeper for more, or if it was enough to pull out what I have grasped and call it done. I used to tell myself, "Just write." And I did. I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote. I was what I sometimes hear is called as a discovery writer, or a pantser, doing it by the seat of my pants.