The third draft went off to Debi yesterday. It has been an intensive few weeks of near-total immersion. I've had to do a few other things - paid work, some domestic work (but not much as my Paramour has been a star in that department), a couple of friends' birthday parties. Otherwise I've been a reclusive full-time writer. And when I say 'full time', I mean starting at 6 am, finishing at 9 pm, not taking days off.
I think part of my most recent burst of motivation came from the death of a writer friend one year ago today. She was younger than me, highly talented, and died with most of her words unwritten. When she knew she was dying, she pleaded with other writers not to make the same mistake. I know that only published books are officially dedicated to people, but I hereby dedicate this draft to my friend, who helped me so much along the way, and is still helping me now. Like me, she didn't believe in an afterlife - but if there was one, she'd be pleased with the dedication. And I know that if she was with us, she would be loudly cheering my progress.
Today, I have to find the energy for one last burst of activity. Then, this afternoon, when I've somehow managed to do more jobs than will fit into the intervening hours, I'm off with my Paramour to spend a happy weekend with some dear friends, where there will be much eating, drinking, and merriment, and no writing at all. Or even thinking about writing.