The Novel is Done

I've been writing all night, initially fueled by a massive injection of music courtesy of Mikey's library.

I got to the point in the narrative where the novel was supposed to end, and I kept going. There it was. The ending, pure and simple. I knew my head was slightly mushy from writing for so long. But I was certain that it was done.

I knew the final lines long ago, so I wrote them down. The first draft is done. The big milestone.

Now I have to begin the process of revision. But not tonight. Although I'm tempted.

I can't just slink off to bed and celebrate with sleep. The damn trash has to go out. I put it off earlier, and am now paying for it. I'm sitting here in my underwear, and not only have to do the trash, but locate pants and boots.

It's nearly three a.m. I'm listening to Gram Parsons. It isn't quite what I wanted to hear, but I was so weary I randomly picked out a cd and put it in the stereo without thinking about what it was. The ipod is upstairs with Jess, so I've been thrown back on old-school tech.

The cats are both curled up and sleeping soundlessly next to me. There isn't an ounce of poetry left in the old inkwell. Not in my writing, that is. Maybe in the life. But the words are exhausted, and I'm looking forward to bed.