Thirty pages, that’s how much I have left until I’m officially done with my first edits and rewrite. Just thirty pages to go before I get to send off my baby to school and teach it grammar and punctuation.
Unlike my real children I can’t wait to see it go.
I’m tired of coddling, and nurturing it’s whiney little arse, and I’m ready to see it all grown up and in the real world. I love it, I do, and I’m giving it my all… but I’m ready to shove it out of the nest and watch it fly… or crash onto the concrete with a thud and a splatter. Either or, it’s getting close to the time where it must sink or swim. And I think that’s a good thing. Knowing it’s almost ready, knowing it’s time to release it from my hard drive.
And my mind is constantly thinking, “What’s next after this?” And I know the gun hasn’t even sounded and I’m off past the first marker, or just off my rocker. But there’s other ideas and needs and wants, clawing inside their shells. Other paths I want to try… and it’s all hopped up on sugar and caffeine and keeping me up at night. Each potential avenue and thought dancing around waiting for Santa to arrive.
And I want and I want and I want…
So it’s baby steps of torture, and calling myself off of the chase before I dive off of the cliff head first. Big breaths and little steps, but allowing the dreams to slam down one more pixie stick before bed.
And it’s about giving thanks to all of you. With the kind comments and constant encouragement, feeding the monster in my head, the monster that keeps the inner voices at bay, the ones that try to get me to quit it all. Without you all, the casual readers, the faithful commenters, my friends, I’d still be on page one, afraid to peek around the corner.
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