Gobble gobble. It's done.

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. Now all the remaining turkeys can come out of hiding, weep over the dead, and start plotting their revenge. Sure, what do you think they do all the rest of the year? Turkeys have long memories, too.

Claudia and I had our traditional pasta, as neither of us really wanted to go through the ritual of bird immolation. I like to think that the pilgrims would have approved.

Oh, and we also shared a bottle of wine. In celebration. At about two in the afternoon, I typed two words at the bottom of a file that I've been pounding on for over a year. The End.

What did I do then? I cackled like a junior mad scientist who's just invented his first death ray. That was one of those moments when I wish I owned a camera that could have been pointing at my face, just so I could see the sort of dazed, manic expression that I was probably wearing. Then I wandered around the house, probably working on odd chores like loading the dishwasher or putting a load of laundry in, though I can't day for sure.

Then came time to print a copy for Claudia to read. I've been holding off replacing my printer cartridge, even though the few times I've had to print something I get a pop up saying something like, 'Warning! Anti-matter explosion immanent!' I got the first fifty pages of 'In The Dark' out before a newer, simpler message appeared. 'End of cartridge life.' My mental rendition of “Taps' turned into the theme from 'Psycho' when I took out the old cartridge and compared it to the new one that's been sitting on the floor still in it's box, collecting dust for a while. They didn't match. Not even close. Remember that crazed laugh? Picture it turning into the guttural scream that the Predator releases as it clamps it's wound shut. I feel like a fool for having to admit that I didn't realize the printer uses a hard plastic 'sleeve.' The sleeve pops put of the printer, and the cartridge pops out of the sleeve. The problem wasn't really solved, because it never existed in the first place. I had to replace the cartridge on my old one so many times that my hands knew how to do it all by themselves. Time marches on.

What now? Now I beg, borrow and steal all the friends I can find that are willing to beta-read for me. Now I put a bit of extra polish on Roja and look for an agent. Now I get my website built.

I've also started rewriting a short story that I've had on the back burner for a while, a really nasty one. I've also started writing my next book, 'The Red Man' burning.

I have a book

It's done.

I can't tell you how long I've been waiting to write those words. Roja took a lot longer than it should have, in part because I put it aside to write short stories for a bit, but also because I was stumbling my way along in the dark as I wrote it. It isn't just making sure that I don't describe someone's eye color as brown on one page and blue on another, (although that did com up) it was making sure that the people stayed the same people through the whole thing. Because a reader has to assemble their own characters from the directions that the writer provides, we have to give directions that work. If you put a good coat of conservative flesh on the skeleton of a 'nuclear family' upbringing, you need to include a special attachment for that friend who's a confrontational, pot-smoking, liberal arts professor. If you don't, that friend won't fit.

So is it, Roja, any good? Well, if you ask me, I'll say it's damned good. Then again, I may be just a wee bit biased. My long-suffering wife is going to be my first test subject. She already endured me hiding up in my study until thirty minutes to midnight on new year's eve, when I came downstairs ready to bludgeon someone to death because as I was cleaning stuff off my printer, (I tend to use it as an extra shelf) I bumped something on my CPU, and my monitor went black. Be glad you weren't in the room with me just then.

After all that, I had to print it out in batches. I upped the font size to make it easier to read, which upped the number of pages. My poor printer hates me when I make it print a lot of pages at once, and it's kind of got me where it wants me, so I baby it.

On top of that, my poor wife read the first chapter, and found a lot of brackets and incomplete paragraphs that I hadn't noticed on my read-through. Last night, I finished the last of the fixes, and printed the last of the pages. I take comfort in the thought that if anyone tries to shoot my wife while she's proofreading my first book, all she has to to is hold up the manuscript. The damn thing is about six inches thick.

What's next? Well, I plan on going back to my old drill of writing something new while re-writing something else. I have short stories that have been collecting dust this whole time, and of course, it's time to look around for an agent and/or publishing house that will take Roja. I also won't be neglecting this blog like I did.

Whatever happens next, I'll still be writing. Thank you for reading.