On a humid summer evening in August of last year, I sat down and wrote the prologue of my novel. I didn't know it was the prologue until I'd finished it, because I hadn't considered writing a book until only a few weeks before this particular evening. I put a song on repeat and wrote until the images in my head were perfectly recorded, then sat back and read those nine pages over and over.
I can do this, I thought. I can write a book. I know it.
Now, ten months to the day, 428 pages, and 124,000 words later, my first novel is complete.
It's the best thing I've ever written in my life. Even if it never sells, I'll still love it forever and be so proud of my work. I've learned so much with this experience, and I just can't wait to keep on going down the path of my career as a writer. This has been the most exhilarating work I've ever done.
I'm so filled with gratitude that it's leaking out of my eyes a little. I just can't help it.
And now... I think it's party time, friends. Care to join me?