Or cracked. Or something. I'm not sure what or how it happened but for the past week, suddenly, I'm just writing. It had something to do with reading a book called Resistance by Owen Sheers, which reminded me of a story I started writing but stopped; it also had something to do with a blog post on Strictly Writing about the dangers of too much planning. I think that's what I'd been doing with the one thing I had been working on: just planning myself into a corner, and telling the story in the plan instead of in the ... well... story. Anyway I'd forgotten about the other story, which is set in the second world war and is about sisters, men & women, a murder, occupation, dogs.... all the good stuff, eh? I finished Resistance and as I went to bed I made a note about this other story, which I guess for clarity's sake I'll call the dog island story. When I woke up the next morning I was full of ideas about it. Even better I had a voice which I somehow didn't have before, and I finally understood that the story could be told with that voice. It was like I found an "in", a break, a crack in the code, an opening. I've written nearly 3000 words in the past six days. This is the feeling I've been waiting for. So please words, please please please, please don't dry up!