Yesterday, I finished a project. I put the final touches on a book and emailed it to my editor. For myself, I like the book, but I am always nervous until it is read and accepted. My editor promised she'd read quickly, but in the meanwhile, I have stepped off the cliff and into space.

I have all the time in the world, and nothing to write to fill it. And so, today, I am restless, praying for an idea. I have been here before. I am familiar with the post-project blues.

I give myself points for having finished. Many artists procrastinate about finishing, fearful of the emotions they will face when their project is over.

I had dinner last night with a novelist friend of mine, John Bowers. He listened with sympathy to my plight. Finally he suggested I write a sequel to my novel "Mozart's Ghost." The idea is tempting. A couple of ghosts, a couple of lovers, what could be better? But no sequel immediately suggests itself. I could start writing by hand and see what comes. That might be a good idea...