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nostalgia, cocoons, finishing books

November 9, 2011

In Venice, on the trail of the Marys

It is possible that I finished the book today. The last words are “ruthlessly herself.” One can never be sure, though. I don’t know what I will think tomorrow. Or what my editor will think.

This picture is from my last trip to Italy, when the book stretched out and out and out. I feel nostalgic for that time, which now seems like an innocent, happier time, which it was not. I spent all of my time worrying that I would never finish.

But for now, tonight, I think it might be over, because I have a strange feeling of being adrift, let out of my shell. It is not a relief. It’s more like being homeless or exposed, like coming up from underwater and the air is cold. I can’t imagine what one does with one’s time, when one is not always thinking through a book. I guess one goes to meetings and goes out to dinner with friends and picks up children at school, all with a clear, open mind, as opposed to a mind wrapped in a cocoon.

I don’t really like it out here. I can’t wait to tuck myself into a new book.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. November 10, 2011 6:21 am

    Happy for you and a little sad – You’ve got empty-nest syndrome.

  2. November 10, 2011 10:45 am

    We writers are never happy: we can’t wait to finish; we cry when it’s over. Jeez, what’s wrong with us? XX

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