I gritted my way through the end of a chapter this afternoon, and it didn’t really turn out like I expected it to (I like how it turned out better than how I’d envisioned it) and now suddenly I think I have one chapter left. Maybe two. The story is ending in the same place I thought it was going to, with all the cards where I wanted them to be, but the details are turning out differently. So whoops, here I am, almost done.
Thank God.
I got very funny email from my friends Pat and Melissa last night. Melissa first, at about 8pm:
I am having a cat moment.
We got your book in the mail on Tuesday. Pat got to it before me. He is selfishly reading it. He occasionally giggles. I have read a John Connolly book and am now reading Margaret Atwood. But I “want what heee’s having”. Dammit. Should have ordered two. Humph.
Followed by Pat, at around 10:15, an email that read rather like free-form poetry:
And on the third day the last sentence was read and it was declared good.
Good it was declared on the third day of reading.
A house was not worked on, no tree was turned to sawdust.
An ass groove in a La Z Boy was made deeper.
Blood was not able to get past elbows and fingers grew numb.
Eyes grew bloodshot and tired.
The only thing that was accomplished was a mowed law.
only out of desperate need, and only half assed so there would be more
time for the book.
My life was put on hold.
I’m not liking you much right now :)
Maybe if I would’ve taken the effort to turn on the lights my eyes
wouldn’t hurt so much.
I didn’t want to put the book down to turn them on though.
But now they are watering too much to finish typing this and i don’t
have the strength in my hand to type properly so my wrist and forearms
are starting to hurt,
so a spell check and goodnight.
ad a thank you for writing such a good book.
more please.
And then again from Melissa, at a quarter to one in the morning:
dammit. He finished it at 9:30. I picked it up, abandoning Margaret to the dining room table. I was going to read a little while having a cigarette and then go to bed. It is 12:30. I’m half way through. Damn you :) (with all the love and admiration in my sleepy little heart). NOW I’m going to bed!
PS. IZ GOOOOOD…
There’s not much better than people bitching that they stayed up way too late reading your writing. :) It’s right up there with your agent telling you she forgot she was supposed to be working, when she was reading your manuscript, or an editor saying you’re a dangerous writer ’cause she forgot to be looking for problems with the story while she was reading the proposal for it. :)
I’m gonna go walk the dog now. :)