-but hopefully not the same kind of infamy as the Hindenburg.
I just finished the first draft of my first book.
It is a strange feeling, like running a marathon, by yourself, with only three people to cheer you on and meet you at the finish line. However, now that I truly dwell on the subject, I would rather the support and cheers of those three people than an entire crowd of strangers- likely drunk and confused- screaming my name.
It's an intimate, lonely sensation- of completeness- that is difficult to describe.I want to get drunk and dance and tell everyone I've ever known that:
I. Did. That.
That was me.
That happened.
I finished something big.
Like, 110k words big.
Like, 310 pages big.
It might be crap.
No one may read it.
My mother never will.
But, I did that.
And I love it. I love this moment. I don't want to live here forever because now I'm ready for what comes next.
It might be crap...but, I am ready.
