Today I can look back on last night and laugh. But at the time, it wasn't very funny.
I'd had a great day, writing wise. Got lots done, met my goal, knew where I was heading with the next chapter. The going was tough in that last chapter, but I pressed on and won through.
About the time my husband got home from work, I started feeling flat and listless. (Now, I know what you're thinking, and it isn't true. His coming home had nothing to do with it. I love my DH to death and he's wonderful.) But I couldn't shake this feeling of heaviness in my heart.
I went to my bedroom and had some alone time, pondering, wondering. The longer I lay there staring at the ceiling, the more morose I became.
I decided to take drastic measures. It was time for a long soak in the tub.
It occured to me about halfway through my bath...I was sad because my characters were at odds with one another. In fact, he broke her heart! She stormed out, unable to think or breathe, and though he chased after her, she wouldn't listen to his explanations. Oh, if only she would've listened. If only he hadn't said that. Those poor people, so in love and so miserable!
Are writers silly or what? I can only hope some of my own pathos of the situation is translated into a reader's heart someday.