....Three pages to go ladies and gentelmen. Then, I'll be two thirds finished. I'm resisting with every ounce of willpower to my name, the overwhelming urge to rush ahead and just get there.
Slow and easy, after two and a half years of sweat blood and tears, crippleing doubt, exstacic revelations and grinding tedium one would not want to trip at the finish line and have my dear old muse leave me for some graceless clod. Oh, no indeed.
The really strange thing is, that after all this time, ( the book had it's genesis during my work on the Wake.) I've just really discovered what it actually is. What would that be Michael you say?
Well now, lets just say, it's not what any one would expect, and probably not what anyone who knew me could imagine me doing. Even me.
Ok, right now, my whole arm hurts from inking and inking and inking. And I'm torn between thinking what kind of utterly savage reviews it will get and how disappointed everybody will be after shelling out good money to pay for about two hundred pages of me psychical wanking off.
Or, the enormous accolades and awards it will win. Right.
I do in my more lucid moments think it just might be good enough to be proud of, and it just may make me enough to do another without worrying so much where the rent will come from.
But, then again, maybe not.
Just shut up he said to himself, and finish it. Throw it in the air and seen where it falls.
Now, I'm going to take a few Advil for this aching arm and try to relax.
Be kind to each other. It starts that way.