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I feel like I’ve got hold of the new shape of this book now. The weight of it is sitting right in my head and I can tilt it and turn it and see the whole picture nearly.

Sometimes writing feels like hiking up a heavily wooded trail. You get glimpses of the destination now and then but mostly you can only see what’s right in front of you, the twists and turns hiding the next part of the path. And like, hiking, sometimes it’s damn hard work and you doubt you’ll ever get there and your mental feet hurt and you want to kick the next damn fallen log that gets in your way and everything you’re carrying rubs the wrong way and all you want to do is sit down and not move and let someone else do it while you drink something and pass out.

Then you reach the top and the view spreads out before you and it’s kind of gorgeous and well worth the blood, sweat and tears and it all falls away. Not sure there’s a good analogy for the feeling like the end of book (or even nearing the end and feeling like it’s all working out) but that one’s kind of close.

And even though I’m not quite there yet, I think that’s deserving of a glass of wine or two tonight while I’m out with the girls.

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