Thank you, Dr. Scalabrin

I had a light bulb moment yesterday while driving to work.

With my current novel, I had the plot worked out, except for a couple of rather major points, and they were beginning to give me fits. I knew my major players were going to find A, and discover B about it, and go on to use C. But I was having a real hard time figuring out how and when they should find A, and the best way to go about them learning B.

Oh, I came up with ideas, but not one of them held enough water to satisfy me. There were weak sections, and part of it sounded like a serious cop-out. The whole issue was looking more and more like lazy plotting and I won't tolerate that.

Do I panic? Does my brain lock up when faced with a plot problem that's looking more and more like I should give up the whole ship and find a new ride?

Nope.

And I have my childhood dentist - Doctor Scalabrin - to thank. When I was young, in 4th grade, I had an accident in gym class playing volleyball, the result of which was a dislocated thumb and a broken front tooth. Naturally following that, I had to have a root canal so I could get a new front tooth - and as luck would have it, since there was still growing to be done - that false tooth had to be replaced a few times as I grew.

Naturally I wasn't a fan of those injections in the mouth - who is? So I'm sitting there in that chair, anticipating the needle, all tensed up and unhappy, and my dentist explains to me that the only reason those injections in the gums hurt, is because patients tense up. If you would just relax, and I mean seriously relax, every muscle in your body (except the bladder!) then they wouldn't hurt at all.

So he showed me how to relax. He taught me right then and there how to loosen up every muscle in my body, force them all into a more relaxed state, and calm my mind. Then, once I was pretty sure I'd done it right, he injected me (several times).

I felt nothing.

Seriously. I. Felt. Nothing.

Since then, with every dental visit I have that requires injections, I practice the same technique and the visit goes so smoothly, I've on many occasion fallen asleep in the chair. I'm so good at that, whenever I so much as enter the waiting room of a dental office, I get drowsy and have dozed off just waiting for my name to be called. I've had two more root canals since then, and twice had a "deep cleaning" wherein they inject you 8 times to numb your entire mouth to use the ultrasonic cleaner. Each time they had to wake me when it was over.

Long ago, I realized that same method works extremely well with writing.

Any time I've come up against a plot issue, or a stumbling block in a story, I've learned if I simply relax - don't panic - and keep myself open to possibilities, the solution will suddenly come rushing into my head. Sometimes this takes a week, sometimes just a few days. Usually it comes when I'm beginning to fall asleep, sometimes in a dream that I'll remember, sometimes just as I'm waking up, but often - - as it did yesterday - - the perfect solution pops into my head when I'm not thinking about a thing. You know, driving a car doing 70mph in a 60 zone (aka, not thinking about anything)

Like this one did.

Not only is it a fantastic solution to the little problem I had, but it brilliantly ties in something that took place in another novel, wrapping up some ends that were left open, and also opening up some amazing and really exciting avenues I hadn't thought of before.

I'm pumped ! I'm thrilled this solution came along and provided me with so many other solutions I didn't realize I needed. I'm a linear writer, and can't just avoid point C and move from B to D with the intent of coming back to fix C. Some writers can do that, and bully for them, but that ain't me.

I gotta go from A to B to C. That's just me. So when a gap appears, I've learned to relax, let it stew and contemplate it with no pressure applied. Let those muscles loosen up, remove all resistance and anticipation, and the solution can slide right in there between the fibers and painlessly give you a solution.

And I owe it all to my dentist.