So.... I finished the first draft of my book. Yep. It's surreal.
You may recall this post back in February of 2010. (In all honesty, I did not recall that post until just now when I went back to read it, but maybe you all pay more attention to me than I do to myself?) If you are wondering what this book is that I keep referring to, there's a brief description there for you.
I don't know if I really believed I would finish a draft until yesterday when I did it. I wrote the last sentence and I said, wait, that was it? Because honestly, it wasn't so hard once I set my mind to actually writing.
Or rather, it was ridiculously hard. Getting myself to write was hard. Actually writing was hard. Re-reading what I wrote was/is hard. Some days it felt excruciating. It literally felt like every single word I wrote was being dragged out of me, painfully, leaving a limp bloated scene with no inspiration that I would have to re-write later anyway and what is the point? But it was also not as hard as I thought it would be. I mean, I did it. I finished a story. There's a beginning, a middle and an end. I think one day, I could maybe finish another book. This is not something I previously believed about myself.
So, the book I finished may be utterly terrible. The writing may be stilted and amateurish. The whole thing may need to be scrapped, but it was so worth it to know that I can, in fact, finish a book.
When I started this blog I had 78 pages. Now I have 209. Let the editing begin...
