The corners are always deceptive.
Rivers are not static passageways.
A stretch of slow, even current is likely to round a corner on jagged rocks, on churning undertow.
We watch for the whitewater.
Once you know the river, some dangers are fixed.
But others hide beneath the surface, rising fallen trees and stumps to surround you.
Distraction is dangerous.
Complacency is fatal.
Writing should capture that feeling.
The sweet-sour taste in your throat as you round the corner.
As the whitecaps carry you through-
Or dash you against the rocks below.
If you’d like to chart some rougher waters, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.