It’s been more than a week and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I finished an actual draft of a book. 70,000+ words — some of them well written, and some thrown blindly at the page in hopes that the round 2 edit can actually make this into something good to read.
This is the first time I’ve actually finished a draft of a book. And I only finished some short stories last year — my first time to completion and submission for short fiction. I haven’t gotten any acceptances yet, but I am submitting them.
It’s a very strange feeling. All these years I’ve called myself a writer, kept notebooks of ideas, and whacked away at stories when I had time and inspiration. I have 140,000 words done in an unfinished epic fantasy, and who knows how many unfinished short stories. And now this: a finished draft of a book.
I haven’t wanted to start the rewrite yet because I’m still savoring the “finished” part. Once I start round 2, I’m back into the “in progress” state, and that’s where I’ve been for a majority of my writing life, so I’m not hurrying toward it. Getting my mind around the whole idea that I can actually finish something is a whole new game for me. Baby steps.