Some books are easy: a walk in the park on a summer’s day, a stroll through a friendly neighborhood, a sprint to a finish line. As a writer, you barely break a sweat and wonder what all the fuss was about. This writing stuff is easy! Why don’t I put out twelve titles a year?

Other books remind me of why. They are a marathon through a swamp filled with alligators—hungry alligators—where somebody has hidden the damned finish line and won’t tell me where it is. Meanwhile, a hurricane blows through and trees crash down onto my head and there are piranhas. Lots and lots of piranhas.

Would you care to guess which this is?

I am glad to report that I have found the finish line and am limping toward it, with a mostly eaten left leg and an alligator attached to my butt. Or, to put it another way, I have completed everything except the finale, and am about to start work on that. But I also haven’t taken a day off in a month, my eyes are starting to cross, and I am beginning to giggle uncontrollably.

Past experience has proven that this is not a good thing.

I am therefore throwing in the towel, and declaring that I am taking Monday off. I plan to sleep a lot and eat pie. Tuesday morning, I will be back at the salt mine, and hope to make some rapid progress. But even if not, the book will be out soon, as I simply don’t have much left. The battles are fought and the plot holes are vanquished, and it is just a matter of putting words on a page, which is usually the easy part. I say usually, because nothing has been easy lately.

Damned piranhas.

I will make an announcement as soon as the book is done, to let those of you who wish to read it know that it’s available. I do not think that day will be Saturday, however, although it isn’t out of the realm of possibility. But then neither is me winning the lottery, and that hasn’t happened yet, either.

I will keep you informed.