This novel, which is the twelfth I’ve written, and may (or may not) be the eighth to be published, is finished, más o menos. I wrote the last line about an hour ago, on a dark and dreary, thunderstorm, pouring rain morning. This photo was not taken this morning, but it is similar to the current view from my balcony, excluding the rainbow. The rainbow is the pile of paper now stacked neatly on the side of my work table.
For those of you following along. It is 356 mss pages and just over 99,000 words.
Usually, I am finished when I am finished. But this time there were so many unexpected plot changes that I am going this weekend to sit down and read it straight through, before calling finished finished.
Now what the hell do I do with my day?