The plaster on the inside of my house-shaped shed is drying out. Soon, it will be ready for painting and then the shelves will go up and the desk will go in and I will start to think about what pictures to put on the walls and then, finally, I will be able to start unpacking my books.
In a sense, this stage is like finishing the first draft of a novel. The basic structure is in place; what lies ahead (amongst other things) is layering all the different levels at which the story can be appreciated. Like flakes of gold leaf, they accrue: plot, subplot, subtext, theme, language, perspective - the list is long, but without all these your narrative would feel very thin indeed and your characters would have no meat on which to feed.
This picture expresses a little of what I mean. I took it looking into my soon-to-be-study, with my back to the house, although weirdly, the reflection of the house dominates the photo. Where I live and where I work are blurred together (as in life). You can see the tools the Steves have been using, just as in a first draft you can see some of the joins, where the work hasn't yet been properly synthesised.
If you look very closely, you can see the outline of me, taking the picture. The ghostly presence of the writer, which will always be part of the work.
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