There is hardly anything left of me right now, but the novel is done.

It’s 11:30 at night, and, no, I’m not at the Starbucks, but only because I think they are finally closed. Instead, I’m right here, on my couch, a place that can also serve as a place to write a novel in a pinch. I spent the day at Starbucks, drinking iced tea and typing as fast as I could. And then came on home for dinner and to finish up.


  I don’t mind telling you that it was a terrible fight at the end, with the characters taking up arms against me and insisting that I had gotten them all wrong and that they would NOT allow the book to end the way I planned.

One of them actually wanted whole new scenes written about his childhood. Can you imagine?

But for tonight, anyway, I have vanquished them.

And I’ve emailed the last chapters off to my friends who have agreed to read it for me and to tell me the truth…

And tomorrow I’ll sit down and start the re-reading process myself.

But for now–well, I did do a high-five with my husband, and we did a nice slow waltz around the room.

It has a tentative title: The Year You Think of Nothing Else.

Sums up just what it’s been like for the past 12 months.