I've finished another novel. No balloons, no Sale of the Century streamers descending from the ceiling, no fanfare. Just a dual sigh of relief - mine and Martin's. (He is always relieved when I finish a novel, don't know why, I am an absolute pleasure to live with while I'm writing.)
It is drifting in that no-man's land now, where the email and attachment has been sent but there's no one in the office to take possession of it yet. It has no title (it's working title is Ruby-lee, which is the name of the main character), but it does have a beginning, a middle and, my favourite, an end. It appears to have a story, a quite pleasing shape, and a teeming populous of characters, all of whom I love, even the dastardly Spence. I already feel a bit sad to leave them to their own fortunes (I will stop feeling sad when it comes back to me to be fixed - at the moment it is perfectly whole, soon all its springs will go sproing and little nuts and bolts and random screws that never seem to fit back in will scatter over the floor.)
But for now it is done. It is done.
No time to pause, tomorrow, back to all my beginnings and see what can be finished next, posthaste.