What a day. What a lilting, bourgeois opera, but I have yet to write the libretto. The highlight:
1) I finished my novel today. The ice storm helped, offering time at home, and sound effects. That crackle of ice on limb on wind opened something and let me let it be done. The end of the story was very simple. Ends are weird, and I don’t know if this is the right one, but it came clear and natural, so I will let it be for now. There’s still a passel of work to do, but I got to the end of the story! This novel took me ages, what feel like lifetimes, to finish–the first note I have with the germ of idea is from 2001, and I’ve been writing it since 2004. But for now I’m done. In a way.
To celebrate, I opened the week-and-a-half-old bottle of wine from the fridge (a very good wine that my friend Kurt, owner of Emporium, recommended) and put on The Black Rider by Tom Waits. (Sounds from Tom Waits have been partially to blame for the novel.) My husband celebrated with me; my daughter said she didn’t like the music but didn’t insist I turn it off.
After dinner, I noticed the dripping from the picture window (a leak, we need to figure out why, and have it fixed) was tap tap tapping with a tad more force than it had been this afternoon into the yogurt containers there to catch the drips…still is, but now fortified by towels, and other vessels to catch the water…saw a thin line of shine, so just in case, I emptied the cabinet below of myriad cups, saucers, tea, cocoa, and other important detritus…all dry…so for now, all I can do it sit back and wait to see if this really is the storm of the season, and see if the power will go out.
And probably best to eat some ice cream, which is still frozen. That’s the most obvious bourgeois bit, the ice cream. Because I’m not trapped in an ice-covered wonderland without it.
But I just heard a really creaky sound outside…