Nonetheless, I feel like marking the "completion" of a reading draft of my next novel. The final pages are spitting out of the printer upstairs, and I am a little scared. For a year and a half, this story has been working, and I've only shared a couple of pages with my trusted Becky and my writing club. It's just a reading draft, but that means that I'm going to have to let my readers, um... look at it. And though I have loved working on this monstrosity that currently weighs in at 127,00 words, 355 pp. 1.5 space, I'm terrified that I haven't pulled it off.
I guess I'll have to trust the fact that I smile when I think of my characters and parts of their story, and trust my readers to help me figure out what I've got wrong.
Here goes nothing!
