Every writer must be a bit of a cadaver dog.
Once an emotional crash-up is over an author must plod back into the disaster area and sniff out the recoverables. You know, what experiences and feelings can be re-used in their fiction.
It’s a dirty, unpleasant job and it stinks.
Currently I’m holding my nose and sifting through mental unspeakables left from the car accident.
So far, not a salvageable ping of emotion has been found for my Cozy Mystery.
But I keep looking in spite of the stench.