milan is done, the epilogue is done. it’s painfully rough, it’s full of bracketed note about things that have to go in earlier, that have to be redone, that have to be looked into . . . but it’s out and on the page.
it is no small thing, to realize that 18 months of nonstop work not only needs drastic revision, but that everything you had thought to treat as backstory—as background, like so much noise—has to be written out. i had thought at first i could do it in 20,000 words, then 40,000; and then i realized it was its own part of the story . . . a first act, if you will. and now that act is done, it has a name and a shape and it does things, some marvelous things, some ehh things. but it’s all there, all measured out and ready to be doctored into its final form.
i feel like i should go out and dance, but it’s raining again; i feel like i should tell someone, but there’s no one here—my sig. oth. is on emergency duty, just about everyone i know is three hours ahead of me and thus in bed . . .
so i told the cats, and they told me that’s all very well and good, but it’s not those superyum friskies treats, it’s not a sneak in the butter dish, and it’s not a clean litter pan, so what was i getting all excited about?
nothing like felines for the reality check. 🙂
this will be a good note to end the year on: massaging these last chapters into shape, and for the first time in months being able to look at a piece of this as a whole arc unto itself. and much of paris is still viable, it’s written and polished and now only needs to be fitted together like so many jumbled puzzle pieces.
i feel better than i have for weeks now. better, and thankful.