So, some news. I finished Winter Republik a few weeks ago, the book I've been writing for the last many years. 127,000 words, 219 single spaced letter-size pages. The size of the thing is the least important thing about it, but still. Writing the final pages, printing the thing out and holding it gave me a feeling of satisfaction and ecstasy that I'm not sure I've felt before. Looking for an editor and publisher now, though I know this process will take many months. I can be patient.
My only regret is that I didn't finish it a few years ago. There's a political riff in it that would only make sense during the Bush years. I compromised by setting the book in 2007 rather than "the present day," but it loses some immediacy by doing that. I didn't have a choice.
It's funny though, now I'm sat on an airliner between Chicago and Boston. It's the first flight I've taken since I finished the book. I've done all the work I feel like doing for the moment, and here is where I would usually pull the book up and start writing (about a third of the thing was written on airplanes over the years). But now it's complete. I can relax. But I don't know how.
I worked so hard on the thing and now I have withdrawal symptoms. Sitting here on the plane or when I hear certain music... Joy Division and Velvet Underground for the gritty, realistic scenes. Alsace Lorraine and Vitesse for the love scenes. And Jessica Bailiff and Boards of Canada for the stranger, esoteric bits.