Last Tuesday you may have heard some hooting and hollering. That was me. And if I were an NFL football player, I would've received a fine for excessive end zone celebration. You see, I finished a draft of a story I wasn't sure I could finish or would finish or even wanted to finish.
This draft? Oh. My. Gosh. It kicked my butt like no other draft ever before. I didn't even start writing it until about a month after I thought I'd start because I knew it would be a beast. And then, a good ways into the draft, my four-month, unplanned writing furlough arrived because I lost belief in my writing in general.
In addition, this story's conflict didn't end up following any plot notes I'd scribbled, and the ending came at a place I never imagined the ending would be.
So, when I finished this draft, I wanted to clamber to a ship's bow, lean on the railing, clench my manuscript in my fist, and shout, "I'm queen of the world!" (Titanic, anyone?) And I have to say, I still kinda do. Drafting is hard, hard, hard for me. Especially this draft. But . . . I adore revision, so it's blue skies and ocean strolls from here, right?
Yeah, we'll see about that.