13 Mar 2014

The End

I know the title is ominous, my subject matter isn't. I just finished my second book.
     No, not the second book that I ever finished, but my actual second book. Unlike normal people who generally scrap the first book they write. I am still praying and working on getting my first book published. I never could let go of the idea, and I'm still writing this story that I'm planning on being a four book series.
     I knew all day that it was going to be done today. I knew it as I scribbled some of the last pages down on a stripped notebook. I had stolen my younger sister's pink, unicorn pencil, and it help craft my ending. I wrote it all on my laptop and continued where I had to stop on paper.
     I was curled up on the couch. My dad was doing his taxes and I was writing and watching Jack Sparrow fight undead pirates. I'm so glad to be done it, I did a happy dance and squealed (quietly because kids were sleeping).

     Then reality hit that while it had taken me two years to finish my first book. It has taken me five years to finish my second book. I hope this is not a sign of things to come. I could get depressed by that, but I'm not. I don't write first drafts that are just skeletons, my first drafts are generally well fleshed out and in need of a few tweaks and heavy polishing.
     The point is that I did it, I had plenty of excuses. Puberty comes to mind, and other issues. I also just realized that these books reflect my inner journey. I mean JR.Tolkien took his time and it was for the best. I'm just glad that I didn't let anything stop me.