Yesterday I woke up feeling sick and light headed to the point every time I stood I felt as though I would fall right back over again, and barely had the strength to hold my head up for long periods of time. I was awake for about two hours before I told a coworker I would not make it in to work. There was no way I could do manual labor in that state.
The day before yesterday, which would be the 30, I meant to write up a blog post for the 31, but I was eyeball deep in writing. Which brings me to the purpose of this post.
*deep breath* I. Finished. Mortality.
It's only draft one, but I finally did it. I've been working on Mortality on and off for ten years, and that is WAY too long to be working on something like that. I know that now, and it will never take me that long to finish something again.
But give me some credit, I was around the age of nine or ten when I first hatched upon the idea and started writing. I stuck with it for that long, it's kind of sad to see the end come.
However, whether it's the first draft of your first novel, or the first draft of your tenth, it's only the end of the beginning. After the first draft, comes editing.
I was going to begin my own editing yesterday after I finished changing my (flat) tire, but I decided after my shower that I was too tired to stand, much less look critically at my book. I went to bed. And woke up sick as mentioned above.
Now, however, I am feeling somewhat better, meaning I don't feel as though I am going to pass out any time soon. I plan on diving right into editing after only a days rest from it merely because I can't stand to wait!
This is a good feeling, one I hope every writer will persevere until they finally feel it as well.
I now can call myself an author, and not just a writer.
