On January 11 of this year, I began writing my book. The book contract has been approved, the schedule set. Today I finished the book. The last two days were the worst. Not because I was sad, but because it was the finishing-up part. Charts to make to verify other people’s Gallery entries. Charts for my own images in the book. How-to books are complicated. Counting to make sure I had all the steps in the right order. Making sure the image name in the text matched the image in the photography folder. The ugly part of writing a book.
But then it was done. I sat there, staring at the thumb drive that held two gigs of words and images. For about an hour, I didn’t know what to do next. I felt cut loose and drifting. Nine months ago, Raw Art Journaling: Making Meaning, Making Art had been a concept. Now it’s a group of files. Next June it will be a book with an ISBN in the amazon.com warehouse. It does not feel like giving birth. It does feel like a lot of work.
There is a lot to do yet. There will be galleys to proof and changes to make, but for right now, my part is done.
For all of my life, I’ve been a night person. Over the last nine months, I’ve slowly become a morning person. I’m still fighting going to bed, but I don’t want to miss dawn. I love the dawns coming up behind the palm trees. I love watching the sun slide from Southeast to Northeast and then back again. I love walking in the early morning, before a lot of people make the streets busy. That very quiet time in the morning let me meditate, walk, think, and write. I would hate to lose it under a pillow.
What’s next? Right now, that’s not important. I just want to sit here and hold still, listen to the clock tick. Because the book is really finished.