Something strange

Yesterday, I did something kind of strange. Maybe strange isn't the right word. Maybe it's just more...remarkable. (As in the literal sense: worthy of remarking upon.) What did I do? I finished the first draft of my novel. Don't let me get ahead of myself here: there remains a ton of work ahead. In fact, there are fewer parts of the novel that don't need work than do, if that poorly constructed thought gives you a bit of perspective. (It will probably also give you pause about reading anything I've written, but so be it.)

But it's there -- more than 200 pages (250 book-size pages, give or take). In a row! There's a narrative thread that runs from beginning to end. I know what happens and I know how it happens and it's there on the page. It's a story. A whole story.

Despite how it may sound, I'm not exactly patting myself on the back here. It's just that I'm not sure I really thought I could even get this far. And whadda ya know -- I have. That feels like something.

That counts for something, right?