Finish Line

Faaaackin' hell, I feel like Frodo at the end of Return of the King. I'm at the top of a flaming Mount Doom and I couldn't give a monkeys because I've finished. It is finished (sorry had to go Biblical). I am done! Funnily enough, I had a pre-completion cry because stupid me decided to listen to Grey Havens. My nerdishness around those films knows no bounds. Apart from the Titanic soundtrack, Lord of the Rings, Return of the King will guarantee me to cry. I used to think that if I ever became an actress (still a chance, Lady London will tell you about my dramatics) I would be able to cry on command by just recalling that music. "Miss London, you need to be emotional in this scene. Do you need some fake tears?"
"Move man. Bring my my phone and my Beats!"
Back to the main event. You know I write out of order. I don't write a story from A - Z because... well that's kinda boooorrriiiiing (Villanelle yell). I write the bits that are interesting first. So usually sex. Fight scenes. Banter. Food. Oh my god, so much food! More banter, and probably my favourite dinner scene between two characters ever. Obvs because Giuseppe Nardiello is one of them. Actually, there are two and Nonna Mamione is one of them.
I can be honest about why this book was so hard to finish. In between traumatic events which have been far too frequent, I'd like to end my trial period of trauma until 2031 please and thank you God, I didn't really want to say goodbye to these folks.
Nick and Gina have been my bezzies for the better part of a decade. Tony has been winding up Lydia for eight years. Rocco has succeeded in taming his storm, Anna, Luca has found his peace with Frankie, Auntie Belinda is getting it good and regular from OG Massimo (my true sugar daddy) Sofia is making herself content with Paul who is concentrating on being a good husband, a good son to a woman who never had her own children and keeping his wife in booze. Durante Da Canaveze has made Ella settle down. Ella! The freest of free spirits who couldn't give a fuck about anything but her son and Arlo Vitale. Speaking of, that little fucker is a big boy now. With a degree and everything! I've wrapped everyone up with Paperchase wrapping paper, with nice little bows and invisible sellotape.
So Beppe and Mimi were both like, "Excusi, what the fuck about us?"
Hot Muse Hank totally told me "Tell them both to do one, we're not ready! Too much junk is happening right now."
So I did. In the middle of all the shit that goes down for both of them, I needed a break. It was too much and too close to home and you all know I can't and don't write when I'm emotional. I cannae do it, Captain, I just don't have the power!
After Hot Muse Hank told me to get rid sharpish, Beppe and Meems were like "Well, fine. Fuck you too!" And disappeared into the night, never to be seen. Until Jack motherfucking Garrett and his voice of knicker-wetting gold. There's one song, and it rocks up on the soundtrack for Murano and the story came at me again, like it was playing at the IMAX. I saw Beppe and Mimi falling in love. I saw their wedding in Technicolor, down to the type of shoes Bep wears and the colour of Mimi's dress. I saw everyone backing Beppe up when he needed it. Anna being such a badass and yet fearful of losing the only friend she really has (Rocco doesn't count, he pounds her). Mimi told me where her piercings were and Beppe his favourite holiday. I love these people like they are family and half of why I burst into tears last night, wasn't just relief, or happiness, it was goodbye. I didn't want to let them go, they're bloody hilarious!
Anyway! It's done. Finito. Hot Muse Hank gave himself a pat on the back and snored off. I stayed awake until 2am, thinking what I'm going to do with myself, now my babies are all grown up causing havoc in their own world without me.
It woke Hot Muse Hank enough to remind me to finish my Japanese dragon story. To finish Carole and Aneurin's tale. To sort out Taemar and Jack. Or do that murder at a wedding story which has written itself bar a few details. Or deal with those four women and a gun in East London. Maybe I could think about that fantasy novel I started years ago or fill out the short story about a director and her Irish seducer. And now that the biggest weight is off my shoulders with Murano, I feel I can dedicate that time to those tales.
Until edits. I mean, it could be 112,400 of utter shit and needs a hella load of work to even begin to be read-worthy (you read that right. 112,400 words). Or I'm just gaslighting myself and I need to chill out. I'm chilled. I'm happy. Truly, for the first time in a long time with the words I've typed to reach my "The End"...
Happy. Me.
I feel... I feel... I feel pretty good.