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This Is How It Ends

This is why I have never attempted to publish anything before. This is why I have huge boxes of things I wrote that will never see the light of day. I don’t know if I could deal with the heartbreak… and by heartbreak I don’t mean the rejection of publishers. I can’t deal with it when it ends.

It ended today. I needed to finish it up so I could get on with my periholiday life that’s always spinning out of control. I needed to get done just to be done and because too many people know about it. Well, first draft is done. I wrote the words “The End” at about 1645 this afternoon at my favorite cafe in Philadelphia. It was shortly before I decided to stop worrying about what a loss the memory card is that the postal service refuses to give me. I decided it wasn’t worth my angst and I will write what I need to on the seller’s feedback page and never again ask for anything to be shipped via USPS. I will try to stop my mind from boggling at the sheer ineptitude of some people (white a lot of people).

I just finished a novel, probably one of the most poorly written but perhaps the best story I have ever done. I will not worry about some people’s accents coming and going, logic problems, and a supremely ill-written climax. I will enjoy it for a day or two. I will not read over it for the recommended two weeks. This means I’ll see it again on Christmas Day. Hallelujah.

It’s hard, though, it’s like when a love affair dies, seriously. It’s like losing a friend. That first run can never be duplicated and I’ll never see the plot spin out in real time of this particular story ever again. I’ll miss my characters, I’ve been thinking of them nonstop for six weeks. It’s hard to suddenly be without them. Suddenly, my Saturdays are free.

I’ll see you guys later, though, for Revision. On Jeanne, on Tina, on Stephen, on Marco. It’s been real.

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