Typing THE END, even if those six letters a purely figmental, releases a flow of endorphins and a sigh of relief like nothing else.
I finished the first draft of my first novel yesterday. At 120,320 words, it is thirty percent longer than initially intended, but I’ve sharpened my figurative pencil for the looming Slaughter of Darlings.
The End is, of course, just the beginning. I have a long list of edits and revisions all ready to go.
My meeting with a homicide detective was both fascinating and invaluable. It also led to the need to rework three chapters and add two new tertiary characters.
It’s supposed to be in the hands of my beta readers in five days, so why am I typing here?