I have been YEARS trying to revise my novel and it has been a struggle.

It’s not that I think my novel is perfect or that I can’t let go of the ideas in there. I don’t and I definitely can.

The problem is that I couldn’t figure out how to take it apart and reassemble it. It was almost a mechanical problem rather than a creative one.

And I’ve tried multiple approaches with minimal success.

Today, it occurred to me that it was time to get back at it.

So, there I am thinking that it had been ages since I had even touched it and dreading the painful process of trying to figure out how to revise when I had a sudden realization.

I was working on my novel in the weeks before my Dad died.

I had figured out a slow way forward.

I was making progress.

It’s not even particularly painful, just a bit slow for my liking.

And it may even speed up as I practice.

It’s odd that I had completely forgotten that it was only a couple of months since I last worked on it (and that I had forgotten that I had figured out *how* to work on it.) but I guess that’s grief showing up again.

Now my job is to get back to some regular revision sessions.

So that’s one thing on Monday’s to-do list,