I spent the last two days again immersed in another edit of the book, looking for consistency and making sure each part works and that it all coheres. Surely this is the last time through.
Last night, as I was working, I found myself thinking of Leo Tolstoy writing War and Peace. How did he do it? No computer, no google, and no interruptions. Ah, perhaps that is it. No interruptions.
I read in Jon Carroll today that War and Peace is considered in a Newsweek survey to be the greatest book of all time. I wonder if we can equal something like that now, a book with that depth and breadth, or maybe some of what is written now will be equally valuable, just different.
The decks and plants are all wet today with mist, softly moistened with fog. I feel immersed in a sloppy, wet kiss, as from the tongue of a dog, not the dainty, scratchy tongue of a cat, though I did prune rose bushes this morning and my hands are scratched from that.
Happy Wednesday to All!