109,688

I have been a bit quiet.

I have been in a cave, meditating with my novel. Today, at 4:22 PM, I finished edits on the book. It stands at 109,688 words. I put blood, sweat, and tears into each one, and, arrogant as it sounds, as I read the manuscript, I loved it. I really, really loved it. I don’t always feel that way, and perhaps the three incredible women whom I have asked to read it won’t feel that way, but it is all good. I feel light, like a cloud.

There is a reckoning that goes into writing a novel. It is akin to scaling Mount Kilimanjaro by oneself, to giving birth, to having the courage to do what is right in a bleak situation. The book spans thirty-three chapters and an epilogue, ghostly words that haunt the pages that matter to me, a story about stories. Yes, we have angels who live openly (many of whom are vindictive); we’ve got apple seeds, talking orbs, punishing trails, and the heart that beats for the love of the mother. I wanted my mother to read this book so badly.

It’s okay.

I think for tonight, I am going to watch some Netflix with Kelly, eat some macaroni and cheese with my cats like I am twenty--one again. Because keeping the manuscript as brief as I could took a lot out of me. And that is alright.

Happy reading, happy writing, everyone.