Today, for the first time, I typed the words THE END. At the actual end of a novel. A real(ish) novel. It doesn’t matter that I may have skipped a crucial scene or two in that final chapter, or if there is a character I forgot about, or if there are other gaping plot holes ’cause as Steven Pressfield writes, first you must
My canvas is covered. With more than 110,000 words. Yay! Yay me? Now all I have to do is…uh…well…
Yowza. Next comes the adulting part of being a writer.
There’s the printing and the reading and the editing and the reading and the editing and the and the and the. And then some more of that. At some point, there’s also the website, and the blog, and the query letter, and the cover, and a publisher, and promotion, and, and, and…
But before I have to be adultish, I can bask in the thrill of finishing a book. I’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow. Or the day after that.
Not gonna lie, I’m loving how that looks. How many times have you been able to write these magical words?