August 2020 . . . .

     I have recently completed writing a first draft of a new novel. I understand that some writers celebrate when they reach this milestone, like a marathon runner finding the last bit of energy to raise their hands to cross the finish line, waving a banner or spill a little champagne around, but that’s not what I did. Before I wrote, imagined that this was a time for scotch and a cigar or something like that, but perhaps I’ve gotten old (and more aware of the time left to me, an unknown quantity but still something definable — a small handful of decades at best. So I typed those magic words — The End — and filed the opus away in three or four real and virtual spaces so that hopefully it won’t get wiped or lost.



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August 2020