Mrs. T and I arrived at Siesta Key, Florida, on Monday afternoon. I resumed work on Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington as soon as I brought the bags up from the car, and didn’t knock off until two a.m. I finished editing the manuscript at three p.m. the next day, then e-mailed it to Gotham Books in New York, after which we went out to dinner to celebrate.
Not that I felt especially celebratory. I’ve been working so unremittingly hard on the book for the past few months that I mostly feel relieved. Duke, on which I started working three years ago, is my longest book to date–183,700 words, counting the back matter. Considering all the other things that I’ve done since 2010, I’d say that relief is an entirely appropriate thing for me to be feeling right now.
Today, as it happens, is my fifty-seventh birthday. I’m not inclined to celebrate that august occasion, either, though I know that I should, if only to pay tribute to my continuing good fortune. Much has changed since I wrote these words seven years ago, but for the most part I still stand by them, especially the last sentence. (What about that mysterious woman whom I mentioned in the first paragraph? Reader, she married me.)
To those who’ve been sending me best wishes, my most humble thanks. I am so very, very lucky in my friends. And yes, I’m taking the day off.
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
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