Who is that nibbling at my house?
Only the wind, the child of heaven.
There’s a Hansel and Gretel story I have to write before I die, but I’m not quite ready yet. Sometimes a book is there, but you know it’s not time yet. It’s waiting, gathering strength. There’s never any shortage of books standing patiently in line, waiting to be born. It’s just as important to reserve internal space to incubate for a long while, too. Just keep writing and finishing while those books simmer inside you, because everything feeds the work and the Muse.