The book souffle.

Wrote a ton of words yesterday.  Feel like all the characters are jelling, the plot is still going in interesting and occasionally surprising directions.  The writing is coming relatively easy. 

I've begun to think that writing is like cooking.  Not that I cook.  But, you know, the popular image of cooking where the master chef mixes in a dash of this and a pinch of that.  Some of it is conscious  -- needs more meat.   Some of it is instinct -- needs more spice.  Some of it is art -- adding the unexpected ingredient.

So the constant ongoing question is -- what does the book need more of?  What does it need less of?

I'm convinced that the more I write, the more I know how to do it.  I know what I did last time, I know what I want to do next time. 

The ongoing quality of the writing becomes almost moot.  It is what it is, and only by doing more of it does it get better.

So one souffle is a failure, with too much of something, the next souffle has fallen in on itself but is still edible, the next souffle is tasty.  The souflle I cook next will take the lessons I learned from the previous attempts and hopefully make it better.

The more time I spend in the kitchen, the better I'll get.