When I went apple picking lately with my family, we were told by the woman who sold us two empty half-bushel bags that the farther we went up the hill, the more apples we would find. This advice, though worthy of a life maxim, turned out not to be true. We hardly found enough Cortlands, Macouns and Jonagolds to fill our bags, but the dearth didn’t matter. Three generation strong, we had a sweet time tromping through the long grass and searching the trees for perfection.
It’s helpful to recall when writing a novel that expectations don’t always match reality. Questions are just as important as answers, even if they’re not comfortable. Sometimes we need to wander in green confusion, searching, discarding options, and holding hands with whomever’s near by.