The end is in sight for writing IFL2. Though through the great kindness of strangers, and some very last minute sets of very useful comments, I’m still editing up to the wire. I just came across this in Elizabeth Bowen’s novel The Death of the Heart:
Nothing arrives on paper as it started, and so much arrives that never started at all. To write is always to rave a little — even if one did once know what one meant.
Such indeed are the joys.