After nearly 9 months of work, my book is completely finished. It will be ready for you on Tuesday.
I declare the nondescript cover design a success. During the final read in Starbucks over the course of three days, not a single person gave it a double take, unlike when I read this book.
Before I had first done so, writing a book seemed a fine, even grand thing. And so it still seems — except, truth to tell, it is a lot better to have written a book than to actually be writing one. Without attempting to overdo the drama of the difficulty of writing, to be in the middle of composing a book is almost always to feel oneself in a state of confusion, doubt and mental imprisonment, with an accompanying intense wish that one worked instead at bricklaying.
The first thing I did when I finished the book was eat a bowl of ice cream. The second thing I did was buy an air ticket to Quito, Ecuador. I leave August 7. 
