It is, I've checked. That's what makes it so rare, so sweet and succulent. The embrace of the mundane as warm as a mother's arms. It's the whole going home thing, sitting at the kitchen table, chattering about the inane and feasting on it.
A moment to catch our breath before the next change. Even us action heroes need a moment to do a good clean of the guns, reload all the magazines, stock up on grenades and re-wire the booby traps.
However, that may be a luxury denied. Ah, well.
"It's a waterfall, isn't it?"
"Sharp rocks at the bottom?"
"More than likely."
"Bring it on."
The hot tub is fixed, the kitchen cabinet is battle scarred but functional, the guest bed is a bed again and my lap top is still wireless. I did another two pages on my new story only to discover that I no longer have any idea whatsoever what it's about. I will not know how chapter four ends until the end of chapter four. Actually, I've suddenly realized that I don't know how chapter four will start. No matter. Chapter two is done and I'm working on chapter one now (not right now, those were the two pages I did on Tuesday). I did the opening paragraph for Chapter three which takes all the pressure off of actually writing chapter three, assuming that after one is finished then combined with chapter two that the opening paragraph of three is still viable.
My characters know the story and they've chosen not to tell me yet.
Fine, be like that. It better work out into something.