FINISHING OUR BOOKS IN 10 DAYS – OR ELSE
“I need to finish this book manuscript this summer, or else.” Or else what? Or else I’d hate myself. Or else I’d reach old age and die without ever completing my memoir. Or else I’d just go mad. It was a doleful, desperate litany I’d been moaning for way too long.
On the phone, my friend Anisse sighed in commiseration. “Same. Same.”
“My book is a huge mess. I can’t make heads or tails of it, I’ve been revising and moving things around for so long,” I wailed.
“Same,” echoed Anisse.
“What can we do? I’ll read yours.” I was terrified to think of someone laying eyes on my messy draft, but I was willing to look at hers.
“It’s too chaotic.” Pause. “For real? I would read yours, too.”
“What are you doing next week?”
We spontaneously promised each other that we’d print out our hefty, unwieldy works-in-progress and meet at my house on a Sunday morning. My adult children had moved out, and I had an empty nest with space to write. Phantoms roamed the hallways, taunting me. When are you ever going to finish?
She moved in and stayed for 10 days.
Anisse showed up early Sunday morning, both of us giddy with excitement and nerves. We headed straight for the local farmers
