I think every writer knows this moment, when the novel you've been wrestling with suddenly turns and rolls over, like a dog baring its submissive belly and says, "Yes, okay, you win. The way is clear. Go on, now."
Ahh, I do like this.
Of course, I suspect most writers also know the moment that can follow - when the dog, having given you your brief belly-rubbing moment, leaps up and locks your wrist in a death-grip, and the dance begins again.
But that's another story altogether (hopefully).
For now, back to work, with guarded optimism.

