Last night I barely slept. I don't have a story to absorb me now - not my own or anyone else's. I should have read myself through the night. Instead I tossed and turned until the morning at which point I fell asleep and had a heavy dream which lurked in my mind for most of the day.
Mermother is not artistic literature. At best it is pulp fiction. I am under no illusions. But it kept me occupied and now I feel lost without it but too spent to work on anything else. I just tried reading a bit of the first chapter but I am sick of every sentence after so many proofs.
This is one of my big discoveries. There are many false finishes with a novel - you think you're done but you're not. Now I know that it's not over until the novel is bound and by then you'd better be content because you've made the final commit. That's what we call it in software development. There are so many crossovers between writing and coding - I was amazed to discover this.