Sixty days ago (plus a couple more), I made a commitment to write a novel. I did so because I’d long enjoyed writing but had never taken the next step.
Today, after a two month sequence of 4am wake-ups and a dozen 3am wake-ups, weekend days hidden away from my family, and steadfastly not talking to people about it, I finished the first draft.
85,000 words that seem like genius at the moment and will look like shit once I introduce some distance. And yet I feel great.
The work has really just begun. I have two full edits to do, then a break and a major revision in front of me. If I’m lucky, I will have something worthy of shopping around by July.
But for the moment, I will tip a glass to accomplishment. Huzzah!