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I think I did it.

Not certain, but I think so.

Here’s what happened. Once dinner was finished, I sat down with the Surface and prepared to write . . . something. I didn’t know what. I didn’t have any specific ideas in mind, except a couple hours earlier, I called a friend who recently emerged from a month-long hospital stay. Her story reminded me of my own trip to the hospital a few weeks ago to have my appendix removed. So maybe all this was swirling around.

All I know is that I opened up the Surface and opened a new document. With no forethought, I started to type.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d written what I think was the climactic scene of the book.

It needs work, of course. It needs bridges in and out. It certainly needs internal development and details (like where in the literal world it takes place). But the germ is there. The moment is there. God help me, I think this is it.

It’s so weird that after all this time, it just sort of fell out of my brain, flowing through my fingers and onto the screen. I don’t even know what to think about it. Maybe I just needed to let it gestate that long. Or maybe I needed to spend that much time with the characters so I’d know who would behave how in the moment.

It’s a lot more matter-of-fact than I expected. You think “climax,” and you think life or death, blood and guts, all or nothing. You don’t necessarily think of somebody gathering up every scrap of her nerve in both hands and hunkering down, just doing whatever needs to be done, including snapping everybody into line so the ultimate goal can be achieved. You certainly don’t think of humor, but that showed up, too.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be horrified that I thought this scene had potential. But wouldn’t it be a kick if I read it tomorrow and thought, “Not bad”? Or better still, “Yeah. That works.”

No way to know. All I know tonight is . . . I think I did it.