I received this recently:
Greetings to all my colleagues, friends and family,
A funny thing happened on this fine day. I got to type these six magic letters: THE END. After 10 years and five months, 15 chapters and an epilogue at 598 pages, I have finally completed a first draft of my post WWII novel, "Justines." A rambling over grown weed of a story that began as that of a young girl growing up in a rough and tumble, male dominated East St. Louis juke joint. It isn’t as smooth as I would like. Loose ends and plot holes abound. Being the notorious perfectionist I am. But it is finished. At long last. The struggle is over. The true work now begins.
Had to share the news.
I think we've known each other for about the life span of "Justines." During that time I've come to know you as an uncompromising artist, but even more solid person. There's no speaking to "Justines," just yet, but there's no doubt when I say that you embody the best in us; an unwavering morality, rock solid fairness, an intellect that never sleeps, a great laugh, and loyalty that, when called upon, has never faltered.
Truly a brotha. Truly my brotha.
I salute your accomplishment. But far beyond your artistic accomplishments, you by far are your best work.