I’m enamored by sunsets, sunrises, and moon rises. I probably watch three to six of these events each week. I think what I’m really addicted to might be closure and ceremony. I say goodbye to AirBnBs and vacation spots—out loud as I leave. I pat the roof of my MINI and greet it aloud when I get back to the airport parking lot. I walk backwards a lot when I leave a place where I had an emotional moment. I hated owning pets but took both our dogs on ceremonial last hikes the afternoons before their respective benevolent euthanizations.
Tomorrow, my manuscript is supposed to return from the proof reader. It’s been edited by a developmental editor, a content editor, and me in between and after their multiple rounds of scrutiny. This weekend, I have to stop editing, to let this book go to the typesetter and cover artist. I’ve had it for 38 months. It’s time to stop editing and tweaking and accept its imperfections.
Writing this book has been the equivalent of a really good day, but all days have an end. I still have work to do for marketing and adaptation to audiobook, but all of that can start after the next sunrise. In between, the dark brings mystery and a time to dream. But this day—this good day—will live on only in memory now.
