…I mean, the manuscript is there. It’s done.
I had gone to CAMAC for the residency with the sole intention of finishing the book. “Good, or bad, I don’t care. I just want to be done by the end.”
And it was. It is.
The manuscript is done. Imperfectly (I want to say badly but that would be unjust) it can use and will need improving, but it is done. The manuscript has beginning, middle, and end. The book arcs, almost gracefully, though it stutters noticeably in two or three spots. There is substance, though it could use more muscle. It is musical, though it could be a better album.
I am still writing, because now that it is done, it must be made Good. I want it to be good, better, great. And so here I am, still puttering away. Still tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Rushing to finish the book well - the whole book – before the new year, before my birthday… this seems over-ambitious. It would require haste and hurry. I think my body is telling me I cannot do it. (It is. Forbidden fruit. Doctor tells me I must not take on more stress.)
- I acknowledge: I did it; I finished.
- I revise: My goal is to complete three Good stories for the book, and present it, somehow, by the new year, by my birthday.
- I project: The book will come out next year. An artist’s book, I hope, limited edition, with art, illustrations, something beautiful.
Is anyone reading this who isn’t a friend? If you are, and would like to know when I publish the book, please leave a comment below or send me an email. I will compile a mailing list; no spam, I promise.