Working

My desk. I'm very close to finishing the project, which should have been delivered at the end of August. This closeness to finishing is the reason I'm so distractable. I hate finishing things. What I like is writing the final draft, remodelling sentences and adding things, like adding the touches of white and denser shadows when a picture's nearly painted. I hate handing a manuscript over. It's not only nerve-wracking for the obvious reasons (will they like it? will it sell?) but also because it's hard to let go. I'll be bereft for a while and inconsolable, which is an idiotic way to think about freedom.