I’ve just completed the third draft of my novel The Farm at the East Cove Hotel. I printed out the three-hundred-page manuscript last night and I’ll let the tome rest on my writing table for a week before I return to the saga with pen in hand to discover what wants clarifying.
During this week of letting the pile cool, so to speak, I will give the editing department in my brain a vacation.
However, I know my unconscious self will stay on the job night and day interacting with magnetic electric sonic vibratory synaptic currents coming from hither and yon, so when I do take up the physical manuscript again I will be a different person, neurologically speaking, than he who wrote the book so far.
This is one of my favorite things – the work that gets done in realms beyond conscious knowing.
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