Road to Damascus

Or Montreal, to be more exact. Early this afternoon, while driving along Highway 401 on the second leg of our vacation, I received inspiration for a novel. Over the course of several minutes, a rough outline arched across my consciousness: two parallel plots in different time periods. It came as a synthesis of various threads, ideas I have been contemplating recently. A displaced character I have been writing about for a few years found her home in an unexpected story. When I perceived the crisis, I wept. Danny in the passenger seat looked at me but didn't say anything until I started to explain.

I have not received such an idea this way before. This story will require more historical research than I know how to do, but I am enthused about the course of discovery. My life seems to be in the zone where it needs to be at this juncture. I must set things in order to begin work soon. If inspiration lies fallow, it will die. I must set aside most evenings once the Blogathon is over, June 1.