Finishing a Book

So I finished 'Architectural History Retold' on Sunday 1st March 2015, on time, hardly on budget- for there wasn't one- there were just costs. How does it feel? Not bad. There is certainly satisfaction after three years of it, and a pleasure in passing the package on to the publishers all done and dusted and on time. The last weeks were like wading through mud, I'll warn you of that. While now there might be a sense of blue sky, back then, to paraphrase American poet Robert Lowell; the light at the end of the tunnel was that of an oncoming train. Thank goodness Julie was in Berlin, leaving me to glare morosely at the beast I'd created, trying to weigh up it's various characteristics so that they might be gobbled up by internet search engines, whilst considering the comments of those who'd actually read it and offered help. There must be very few apparitions less attractive and more self obsessed than a writer finishing a book.
Certainly once sent, you know what pubs are for, that quiet diffusion, what I used to call 'snow falling in your head' and the day after or thereabouts, it turns out the most important thing to do is get a haircut.  You'll need it, it will bring you back to the world.