Yesterday was a good day. In the morning, I wrote a couple thousand words, and then in the afternoon, I went snowshoeing in some of the most beautiful landscapes out there: the Sierra Nevadas, dusted with at least a foot of fresh dry powder snow.
Today, I finished the first draft of my novel manuscript. It is the weirdest, yet most satisfying feeling, ever. Bizarre in that I can’t believe I’m done with the draft after four years of stop and start and stop (and stroke) and stop (and recovery) and in 2009, start and finish for good. And for dramatic measure, today is the third anniversary of my stroke, one that left me with a damaged short term memory and thus unable to write fiction for a year. When I fully recovered in late 2008, I vowed I would finish this novel, and…I did.
I’m telling you–this is a surreal feeling, I just can’t believe I’m done with the draft. I had to tear myself away from the computer when I realized, “Uh, um. I think I’m done. If I keep writing, uh, I think I’d technically be revising.”
Also, in the span of time it took me to start and finish this draft, so many things have happened in the world–we’re talking wars begun (but not ended), our first African American president elected, the biggest economic recession/depression of our lifetime, etc.) Some of my friends have given birth twice in that time span, gotten married, bought houses.
But phase 1 (complete first rough draft of the novel): done.
Now, a week off from writing the novel. And then: revisions. Yes, plural.
80,000 words 