Sitting at MaccyDs, 6.05 am, the sun is rising, my eyes are a little bit sandy, but everything is ok. I’m working on Jago, steadily, dutifully. I’m just writing.
And it ended.
After two or three years of writing this thing, of picking it up and putting it back down and then picking it up again, I’d got to the end. I wasn’t expecting it to end at that point, hadn’t planned it or anything, but it ended. It was the right place. It was a natural place to stop. It tied up.
There’s huge amount of editing to do now, I couldn’t show it to anyone yet, maybe not before a few months of rewriting and polishing, and there are two or three appendices I can add, if I choose. But the first draft is done.
Which feels right.