I have reached my hand into the hat and I am gently pulling it back out. Instead of a rabbit, I have possibly found a new idea for a book . Slowly, slowly, oh-so-slowly, it is revealing itself to me. I have a character, she told me her name as I drifted off to sleep last night. I know who her parents are and where they all live. I know what the inciting incident is, if not exactly where to start. What is yet to be revealed is the need. The desire. The want. The conflict. Right now the whole thing is just a murmur, something that if hunted down could just fade away. So I will wait, and ponder, and hope that if this character needs her story told, she will let me be the one to tell it.