Whiteout

Setting out to write a book has felt a lot like walking into a blizzard.
The day I opened my front door I thought I knew exactly where I was going.
But conditions deteriorated, familiar landmarks seemed to shift, and visibility has often been down to zero.
Whiteout has sometimes prevailed.
Still I plough ahead, a step at a time, often standing still to get my bearings.
It's an act of faith.
Holding onto the vision is hard, but after getting thoroughly lost more than once, and finding my way back to the page each time, I've learned to trust my process.
I know where I’m going and I know I have to invent the path at every turn. 
I knew it would be a long road—maybe not this long, though long enough.
But I'm in it for the long haul, sometimes exhilarated, sometimes cold and wet and discouraged, and sometimes laughing at my own wayward circling footprints, because they show me how far I've come along my own uniquely meandering path.
It's a trip.