I have just written this account of the last 24 hours.
I wrote this in part at midnight, in part just now.
In passing it on to my writers' group I said
I submit this as being something that seems to help me find my way back into writing mode. I found myself entering a story that told itself to me as I had to do things. I think I had advantage of some attendant drama, hard to imaging how it was, sitting back here now, but I think something like this can be written almost about anything we do, if we are open sensually and visually and to rhythm and temperature and stress, all things we tend to muzzle or deny. And I am pleased to say I then sat another few minutes at midnight and have, I think, a way forward with the snagged novel, starting in a different part of the story. Next to find out how hard it is to move chapters in Scrivener, hopefully not hard at all... but not now... time to veg out!