So, I got out of the weeds, in the end. I got out of the weeds and I wrote and wrote and wrote, and then I wrote some more. And all the writers in town conspired to keep me fed and watered, dropping off meals to my door and stuffing my mailbox with candy. And somehow, against the odds, I finished my first draft and then wrote the second draft in the space of week, evenings and weekends, typing till my vision blurred and my arms quivered.

And I sent it off to publisher and editor and I waited. I sent it also to Kev who read it in the car, while on tour with Stephen Fearing, and that was cool to think about — my book, about two musicians on tour in a car being read by two musicians on tour in a car.

I felt euphoric when it was done, and also a little lonesome. I missed my characters and I worried about whether I’d done right by them.

I read the manuscript over a week or two ago. Parts of it are pretty good. Parts of it are just dreadful. Pretty much what I’d expected. Last night, my brilliant editor sent her notes my way and they are…they are just fine. The things I hoped I was communicating, I communicated. The things I was pretty sure I was not nailing — yup, I was right about that. I have a lot of work to do to make it better. But having written it the first and second times, I feel pretty sure I can go for three. It is daunting. My god, it’s daunting. I have a month, and the guardrail of an editor. And I know where it starts and where it ends. I just have to get the middle exactly right.

I am pretty sure that if I can do this, I can do just about anything. Stay tuned.