I allowed myself a little time today with my fairweather friend Spider Solitaire.  I don’t have as bad a relationship with it as some people do.  It often clears my head and I’m pretty good at shutting the door on it when I can’t come out to play.  Still, it bears a strong resemblance to its cousin, Free Cell, with whom I had more of an addictive relationship back in the day, so I’m always wary–hence the only limited visits from the sickbed, where I’ve had many hours today to do whatever and whatnot. 

And since the mind is drifting a bit, it had a profound thought about writing and spider, which went something like this: when you do a really good job of outlining your novel, you may end up with something resembling a spider game that, by the time you’ve dealt all but two rows, may have intimidatingly long rows of cards trailing off each pile.  However, if you just maintain faith that you’re dealing with a pretty good hand and a decent set of skills, you’ll clear off all the cards and end the endeavor in fireworks. 

At least, I hope that’s so.