The title and epigraph of this novel of mine. Finished. At least for now (the Anne Carson quote is just so fitting. And Anne Carson! Anne Carson forever, of course)
I sent Flesh of the Peach off to my agent this morning. More edits are likely on the horizon. But for now, it’s done. Began in 2010. In Queens, New York, in a flat full of bedbugs. Worked on in Manhattan, then in Edinburgh. It is an international book in origin and in content. Now I can rest a little. Just a little, and D and I can work on finding ourselves a place to live and other trivial tasks and adventures.
Marking your little white milestones, I think, is a good thing to do when you are traveling without a road.