I just finished writing The Arte of Glamour. I don’t think I really thought about how I would react. Usually when I finish a short story or an article there’s a perfunctory pat on the back and I feel pleased with myself and there’s a “good job, Deb!” and I start submitting it places post-editing by Mr. M.
I don’t think I really believed I could finish writing a book, despite all these years of writing. Maybe because it’s been so many years of writing. I don’t know. I just know I’m crying at a B&N like an idiot and A. and Jow are coming because I’m kind of afraid to leave if I’m already crying publicly. I finished it. I . . .I finished it. I wrote a book. I gave birth to a book.
It took four hours to squeeze out those last 3,000 words (which is ridiculously slow if you’re not a writer yourself).
I also did two different rites today (one in the woods and one in a cemetery) so that could be part of it too, it was a lot of woo and a lot of salves. I’m broken right now. And I’m blogging because I kind of don’t know how to not bleed all over the internet like pelican. I don’t know how else to process.
Anyway, The Arte of Glamour was cooked on The Civil Wars’ album and EP. They’re broken up right now but I hope they get back together.
The last stretch was cooked on the song “Go”.
Why do you keep looking out the window?/ Is there something left behind or never found?/ Oh, there’s just one way to find out/ Go, Go, Go/ Did Sirens steal your heart when you weren’t looking?/ Where’d you learn to lie the way you do?/ Look’s like you made up your mind./ I’d have to say I didn’t see this coming/ But who does?/You won’t want to see me standing in the door/ So Go, Go, Go/ I don’t want to hurt you/ Do you ever listen?/I don’t want to run./ You’re not the only one/ I don’t want to touch you/ Eternally I’m broken/ Who but we become/ Who but we become/ How do you care?/ They need you/ I don’t want to/ Go, Go, Grow/ I don’t want to go/ I don’t want to stay. . .