Finished the latest revision of the novel in progress. “Unfocused”. Ended with 402 pages. 74K words. What was that, number five?

Am I happy? Satisifed?

I don’t know.

It feels good. It feels bad.

I’m breathing. Sighing. Wondering. Pondering.

And I’m hungry. As always, it’s the end, or the beginning of the end, which means it’s a beginning or a beginning of another beginning.

That’s the writer life.