Last night, I pulled all of the chapters out of their manila envelopes; three-hole punched them, and placed them in a binder. My eyes couldn’t help but tear up. Sitting on my bed was a blue three-ring binder filled with my words. An actual book. The thickness of the stacked paper sprinkled with black twelve point font caused the tears to spill over.
So many times along the road, I questioned if I would see it through. And staring back at me was proof that I would.
There is much work to still be done. A complete set of revisions and formatting it into manuscript form. But the story has been told. Felicity and Blake and all the wonderful characters that have been living inside my head have told their story. Now it’s up to me to polish it, and prepare it for its journey.
This is merely the beginning.
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