And now for some quality staring-at-walls time

TE is done. Or as done as I can make it, and out the (electronic) door.

Eventually I’ll probably write some letting-go letters to its characters (who all came through for me in the end), but right now I’m in that post-book brain-dead state where I’m mostly good for staring at walls. Any words I had in me are on the page; there are no more left inside of me.

But it’s out, and I don’t think it’s perfect (because I never do and because there’s no such thing), but even so I am awfully proud of it, and I hope I’ve done justice to the story that first began whispering in my head six years ago, as I stood amid the rifted stones of Þingvellir feeling the earth pulling apart beneath my feet and feeling like the past was so close I could touch it.

And now, the waiting and hoping begins.

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