Fini!

I and Pangor Ban my cat
Tis a like task we are at,
Hunting mice is his delight,
Tracing words I work all night.
        My translation of a medieval verse found
          Scribbled in the margin of a vellum
          Manuscript being copied by a monk.
(Pangor Ban means White Pangor)

It’s quarter to three, there’s no one in the place except you and me – Well, a cat just came by to point out that his food dish is empty.  So long as you’re up - ?  So I filled his dish for him.  And actually Ellen’s asleep in the bedroom.

But it really is quarter to three in the a.m., and I’m up.  And happy, because the manuscript is, while rough-edged and full of all-caps gaps, going to be sent in a few hours over the Internet to my editor in New York.  I suppose I could continue working to fill one more of the gaps, but I’m a little punch-drunk sleepy and God knows what kind of drivel I’d produce.  So it’s saved in its little file and will go in the morning.  Why can’t I send it now?  Because I had Ellen turn the Internet off so I wouldn’t be tempted to go see if I’ve got any interesting email or read a favorite blog and not get this done.  And that’s why you are reading this at a much more respectable hour, after Ellen wakes and puts me back on line.