It’s 1:49 AM on February 18, 2014. My husband is snoring softly in the other room and even the cats have deserted me. Only the street lamp outside and the ticking of the mantel clock keep company with me.
And I’ve sent the latest draft to the editor.
It’s finished. Those 2,300 little words, the gaping time holes, the wriggling plot threads to nowhere. Now to sit back and wait for round one of the edits to roll back in. I admit that, while I’m eager to be done with them, I dread them. I dread the idea of having to sit down bullet point by bullet point and fix things I thought were shiny. I can feel anxiety raising its hackles, creeping its sticky tentacles around me like a ninja kracken. But for tonight I am done. Veni, vidi, vici.