You know that tremendous weight of something being nearly finished but not quite? It is not a burden, this weight. It is thick with anticipation and heavy with significance. The matter paces the circuit of your brain, refusing to step off your mental homestead even while you focus elsewhere. It is always there, always present in the shadows, biding its time. It waits for that break in the day when you'll pull it back into the light. It looks forward to those end of the evening hours when, despite the tiredness, you can't bring yourself to be so cruel as to make it wait until tomorrow. It knows you'll come for it if it simply holds its ground.
The book proposals are almost finished.