how does it end?

The other day I wrote about the conundrum one faces when finishing a novel and about a conversation I'd had with my son.  Many of you took the time to comment and, as always, I am so appreciative of your thoughts.

For those of you who wondered (and for the record), I did indeed think I knew how I'd end the book (a novel for adults) before I spoke with my son.  But the language, as often happens, took me elsewhere.  The speed and rhythm of the words, the returning motifs, ultimately sent me back to Prague, where an early chapter of the novel takes place and where, it was clear, the book had to return. 

Fortunately, I had my photo albums to help me, old notes I'd made to myself, pictures like the one above. It was in Prague—so many years ago—that I met Jayne Anne Phillips, Gish Jen, Carolyn Forche.  It was in Prague that some of the images of this novel were born.  It takes that long, I find, to write a book.  It takes remembering, as much as imagination, to write fiction.