Sometimes writing is difficult, and coaxing the words is a challenge that would try the most creative among us, and yet other times the words appear to come almost unbidden. These times are special; stories can grow almost by themselves, like watching a skeleton grow flesh and come to life.
I frequently find it interesting to look at the mood of different parts of my work and I cannot help but see a certain similarity between my own thoughts and feelings and those parts of the book that seem to write themselves. I think this is somewhat natural – possibly so much so that saying so is a little redundant, because it is so obvious.
