Time has slipped away. Since I last wrote, I finished the first draft of my book. Matt returned from war. We spent a week drinking wine on a beach in the Caribbean, and then another in New Orleans, where we ate muffalettas, turtle soup and wild cherry sno-balls topped with puddles of condensed milk. I've baked countless loaves of banana bread, zucchini bread, and a few of honey-whole wheat. I've cooked spicy spinach lasagnas, braised short ribs and stewed pots of chana masala thick with spice. I'm currently in the final months of editing my book, a process that has been frustrating and fascinating in equal measure. Over the last year I've created what feels like a wild animal of a story. An unruly little beast, really, one that changes daily - sometimes confusing, often maddening, always inspiring. But it's here. And now I have to figure out how to calm it down. We'll see how that goes. In any case: I'll be back.
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1 comment:
"a wild animal of a story" is the best kind of story, methinks
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