Books, the children of the brain. -- Jonathan Swift
So I have this two-year-old child: my two-year-old novel. We've been through so much together, this kid and me. It has grown a lot in the last two years, and I've shrunk and become wiser at the same time.
If this continues on, my book-kid will grow to be a monstrous saga. And I will be the size of a walnut, the canniest woman in the world.
We are rewriting each other now, for the fourth time. The novel has so much to say now, and I'm scrambling to keep up. Scribbling down its words at night, thinking about them while I wash dishes, pestering it while it pesters me.
One of these days, we'll be done, but until then ...