The book is done.

I mean, there’s gonna be editing and requests to re-tool images and whatnot, but for the most part…it’s done.

I finished up the last spread (which I did not slack on, and am rather pleased with) and saved it, and spent the rest of the day crumbling under the slow crushing wave of literary post-partum depression that I’ve discovered hits me when I finish a book. (I know, I know, you’d think it’d be "Yay!" and excitement, but it’s really more of…I have been doing this forever, I was born doing this, I will die doing this, and now that I’m not doing this, what am I doing? The fact that I never have any problem filling my days doesn’t seem to enter into it…it’s not logical, it just…happens. And there’s also a vague realization that this is the best the book will ever be, this is me admitting defeat against the forces of laziness and not ever getting around to going back and repainting that one panel so it looks like the Sistine Chapel with cartoon dragons and so on and so forth.) 

When I finish Digger, I hope I’ve got the money to fly to Costa Rica or something, or I may not get out of bed for a week.

Kevin came home and promptly baked me a two-layer German chocolate cake. I occasionally suspect that Kevin is too good for me, but fortunately my ego is made of stainless steel and goats and my attention span is made of mayfly bladders, so I get over it quickly.

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