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Okay, I’ve recovered enough to say more about finishing the book. Let’s see . . . hmm. The book weighed in at twelve pounds, two ounces. The next heaviest book was a little over nine pounds. I’ve told everyone at events that this would be the longest book yet; I didn’t lie. Hell, I didn’t even exaggerated. Page count; 1045. Yeah, you read that right; one thousand and forty-five pages. No wonder I’m tired. It was great to finish on a Friday. I have the weekend to recover. Nice. Though, it’s not done-done. It’s off to New York and my editor. When I’ve had a few days to decompress, I’ll start rereading it. Darla is reading it this weekend, or starting to. I mean she reads fast, but it’s a bloody big book. At the end of the book you can’t tell if you succeeded, or lost your way somewhere in the middle. It’s too fresh, too raw. My head goes so ugly at the end. Too tired to think clearly. I usually get a rush of exhilaration at the finish line, but not this time. This time was like finishing a marathon. You cross the line and you fall onto the pavement, or into the arms of people that will catch, but you don’t really care which. You’re just glad to that you did it. It’s over. I’m going off to do something fun with my husband, I’ll write more later. I don’t know, you guys may not see many new blog entries for a few days. I just don’t know. I need to rest, recoup, recover. For those of you who noticed, our daughter is off with her father this weekend. All of you with shared custody will know the drill.