The novel I’m writing has a lot going on over the course of a year across seven characters’ intertwined lives. I have managed the timeline very carefully, double-checking myself with each new scene. A cheat-sheet of dates and events and chapter numbers has helped me keep it all straight. This morning I went to check something on it, and it’s missing! Did you take it?
The piles in my office have been in worse shape. Things are looking under control, in fact. What probably happened is I misfiled it, which could mean I’ll never see it again.
I remember when a good friend had been teaching me how to play bridge for a couple years when she got aggravated by my reliance on a Goren quick-reference card and told me—in a stern voice—to put it down and trust myself. I’m at that stage now with my novel’s timeline. It feels like someone just let go of my hand.