Why typing "The End" isn't the end of it.

It's not the real cover, of course, just the picture I had in mind while writing my novel. But I thought I'd post it to celebrate typing those magical words "The End!" Yes, it's finished, except it's not.

I'm sharpening my editor's pencil now, or my finger-ends as they tap against the keys. One of my protagonist is threatening to sharpen other things and complains over my shoulder.

"How dare you make me out to be a wimp," says Tom. "I'm not some shy retiring Englishman like Eric. I've got style."

My feeble defense makes me the real wimp I suppose. "I just wrote what you said"

But Tom complains I only ever talked to him when he was down. Which is true. He only ever noticed me when he was down. Still, I promise I'll work on fixing his scenes if he'll just let me know what to change.

"Why should I?" He storms away, throwing words over his shoulder. "You're the writer. You get it right."

"Come on Tom. Be fair."

As if he would. He tells me to go talk to Anne. Honestly! I can't imagine how she puts up with him.

Anyway, I'm reading and writing and fixing and the end is not the end but I'm still having fun. Besides, Anne's really good company to talk with on the green. As English and as ex-pat as me, she always knows just what to say. I imagine I'm back in Cambridge again and the sound of running water is river not rain.