Finished. For now. Until tomorrow when I start again.

I've been wary of taking too much satisfaction from sheer volume, ever since the teacher librarian at my elementary school informed me that it was "Quality, not quantity" that was important when evaluating one's grade three report on cats. But when "just getting the thing done" has been the whole object, I can't help but be satisifed with 143501 words, and 400 pages, and a beginning, a middle and an end. The rest, I can take care of later. A draft this summer was my goal, and school starts tomorrow. Otherwise, this all means the weekend sort of fell by the wayside. I knit a lot, and read the newspaper, but mostly I just wrote. This afternoon, I went to the now-annual CW bbq, and was reunited with many familiar faces, and found some new ones. After days shut away, slogging away at this tale of mine, the stimulation was a bit much, but I really enjoyed myself and I am so in that fall-jacket, bonfire, back to school mood.

I loved the headline for the Margaret Atwood article in The Globe yesterday: The Priorities: first writing, then the laundry, as I sit here on the cusp of my temporary new incarnation as student/housewife. I also cannot wait for Atwood's new book. Also excellent, Rex Murphy on satire, and everything I never knew about the Bloor Street Swiss Chalet. Stephanie Klein in The Guardian. Ian Rankin on surprising parallels between fact and fiction. A tribute to Roald Dahl. Calvin Trillin in The Globe (and his Alice Off The Page is going to become a book).