Clara's Window

Done.

Remember the opening scene from "Romancing the Stone"? Kathleen Turner is in her apartment, weepingly typing the last sentence of her manuscript. She's a mess. Her hair is all over the place. She's wearing a hideous floor-length plaid flannel nightgown (I think?). She's surrounded by crumpled up pieces of paper and overflowing garbage cans of used tissue. There is no food in the house. There is no kleenex in the house. There are no paper towels. There's no toilet paper. She has clearly been "in the zone" for who knows how long, but now she's done. "God that's good!" she croaks, before padding down the hall to find something, anything, onto which she can blow her nose. (She settles on her to-do list, which includes, "buy more kleenex!")

She lights a fire and sits down with her cat, Romeo, to celebrate.

Well in my case I was at a Starbuck's in Portland with no cat handy, but the feelings were the same. I was suitably disheveled, with questionable clothing, hair sticking out in all directions, and deep, deep circles under my eyes from a week of all-nighters.

So I called a friend who worked a few blocks away and who'd followed the agony from its inception. She came a running, and we sat there, together, not quite able to believe it could be done. I'll confess I did shed a tear. The combined feelings of pride and exhaustion were overwhelming.

The Book is off to the publisher for the next round of work. I'm certainly not under the delusion that this is the last of the work. But the first step is done. Now it's just a matter of making it as beautiful and clear and accurate on paper as possible, and getting it in front of readers. I joked with Jane that writing a book is like putting on a performance and giving all the audience members a bag of tomatoes as they enter the theater.

I've been celebrating my newfound (albeit brief) freedom by finally plying the cormo/angora roving that's been hogging my bobbin since April. Here we have three glorious--if not a tad wonky from their delayed stay on the bobbin--plies of cormo/angora yarn, about 216 yards, soon headed for a pair of decadent ankle booties.

Then I went outside and picked these:

And now I'm just enjoying having my life back. Replying to long overdue emails. Finishing logistical stuff for the KR Retreat. Paying my bills. Balancing my checkbook (hello, how'd the balance dip to $12.61?!). And of course playing with more yarn.