Susan “died” at 10:46 p.m. I ended the story of their friendship at 10:55 p.m. About then, I heard Linda come downstairs.
She comes to the basement. I look up:
“I just finished. Do you want to hear the ending?”
I read it.
“Perfect,” she says. “It’s moving & perfect.”
Writing books is a miraculous process–it’s so hard & then so easy, or so it seems.