The mail brought a proof of my reader (see column at right), and a hefty paperback it is indeed! I don't plan to proof by reading it since nothing previously unpublished is in it but rather go through it page by page, all 677 of them, to make sure the format didn't hang somewhere. Then approve it and make it generally available.
Its physical existence does feel like the end of something. A retirement of a certain focus, a certain image of myself. I'm a variation of the same, working on the opera score, but there's something new at hand. I feel it in my gut.
I'll give a copy to my archive, the library, a few friends, and that's about it. There is no significant market for this, which of course I knew going in.
But I'm also damn proud of it. It's an accurate representation of my career as a writer. I own up to it, totally.
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