Lines in the Sand
The End. The place writers hope to reach when they first start
to write a book, story, or article, but a place that is so many times an
elusive line buried somewhere in the sand. I found the line last night. At 2
a.m. I finished the book. I. Finished. The.
Book. The book that began many years ago as a short story. The one I set aside
so many times and had come to believe would never be finished. The one that
often made me struggle but that convinced me to just have faith and follow the
characters, because they were determined to tell their story. I finally did. I
just had faith and let them go where they wanted, and I believed in them when
they said, “Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing, and it’s going to be okay.”
Of course this end is really the beginning. I have 72,565
words to edit, facts to look up and confirm, and then I need to decide what to
do with it all. In some respects, I feel like the Olympiads who, after years of
working hard, have made it to the finish line. Because last night, I finished
the book. That is really all I have to say here today.
