Fin

I can't believe I can say this but...I'm done.
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Hmmm...There's not as much fanfare as I thought there'd be.

It's running out...

Writing as Art

I like the speed technology gives us but I miss the cathartic feeling of seeing ink on paper, the feel of the pen in my hand, the smell of fresh words written out in long form.  There's no replacement for technology but I wonder sometimes if we haven't lost something of the art on the altar of convenience.

Fruit

The end is in sight.  All the work, the worry, the blood poured out in ink, it's all coming to an end soon.  Hopefully soon.

I'm proud of what I've done.  It's something I never thought I'd do, not really.  But this process has taught me something about myself: writing keeps me sane.  It grounds me and reminds me of who I am apart from wife and mother.  Writing is truly the fruit of what my soul creates and I think I like that.

I like that I am able, or will be able soon, to see a tangible form of all these words pouring out of me.  I'm excited by that and I want that feeling for everyone.

Therefore I pray this for you, whatever fruit your soul produces that it would come forth and you could see the manifestation of it and find you're proud of it, no matter what it is.  Go!  Create and be fruitful!

Note to self....

Writing is a job.  It takes discipline.  You get out of it exactly what you put into it and nothing more.

Sometimes less....

....but never more.

Yes. Why not?

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

...and so it begins.

The deadline looms close on my horizon - the date my book is due to the publisher. I am amazed and humbled and nervous. Writing this book has been one of the hardest things I've ever done, to bare my soul and pour my heart into these words. She is me. He is mine. They are visceral and ethereal, and as easy to grasp with my mind as smoke in the darkness.

It is my fervent wish my words would touch and tame and ignite and sooth and really, really not suck. "All this from a work of fiction?" you ask. Mayhaps too lofty a goal...at least that last part.

It is with humble hoping that I offer up my words, the fruit of my soul, to the world and await its judgement.

Let it begin. (I wore my big girls pants today.)