[various fabrics, The Eternal Maker]
Today I finished writing a book. In effect, I have closed it and delivered it to my editor. In reality, I have just sent the last document to a distinctly modern and unromantic Drop Box file. There is none of the old-fashioned shuffling of papers, tying up with ribbon, or flourish of typing THE END in large letters, but there is the utter relief and delight of having got to that point. It is a lovely feeling; for at least two years I have woken up every day knowing that the book is coming up and has to be thought about, then that it has to be written and the quilts need to be made. When you do everything yourself, as I do, a project like this fills your mind, days, evenings, weekends. And now, with the last full-stop, it no longer does. I can honestly say that there aren't many moments of satisfaction that are better than this.
It doesn't last long, though. Because very soon there will be the photoshoots, the editing, the technical queries, the illustrations, the corrections, the proof-reading, then a wait before publication when the book comes back full-on into my life. But for a short while I can bask in the finishing of the work only I can do for this book. Now that it has gone, it is part of several other people's work, too, and not my responsiblity alone, which makes the rest of the process so much easier and me feel quite light-headed.
And now I am going for a walk with a very empty brain.