finished
Tied to the Tracks is off to various people for the first round of reading/editing.
George Carlin once had a bit in one of his routines about things you find in the refrigerator. The lump on a plate that might be meat, or... cake. Meat-cake. That's how this novel (how every novel, at this stage) feels to me. What in the heck is it? Is it edible, or should I just dump it?
Back to work on other things, now. Whew.