I’ve had a really good writing week. For me that means being so deeply immersed in my book that it begins to seem more real that my actual life. I surfaced this morning–Saturday, and thus a non-writing day–and reacquainted myself with “normal.” (Nothing like cleaning bathrooms to get your head out of the clouds.) I went for a run in the forest near my house in spite of the icy, driving rain. There’s this ginormous hill that I’ve never been able to run all the way up. For the last year in which I’ve been running regularly, there’s always a point on that horrible hill where I have to stop and walk a bit. Except this week. This week, I’ve run all the way up every time. By the time I get to the top I’m sucking wind and cursing under my breath, but I’m also fully back in my own life again. And I’m reminded that we must be the tellers of our own narratives as well. It’s not enough for our characters to have adventures and grow and change. We have to attend to our own stories too. I plan on making mine a good one!