When I’m writing a novel, there usually comes a point when I realize what it’s all about.  Not the details of the plot–working them out is a constant process–but the reason I’m bothering to write it.  It’s a bit odd that I never seem to figure this out before I starting in on the thing, but there you have it.

Anyway, I’m deeply into the first draft of the sequel to my novel The Portal, and I find that I have suddenly reached this point.  Which is a considerable relief, actually.  Now I’m not just telling a story; I’m telling a story that matters to me.