I can see it. After three years of writing my first novel is less than 30 pages from completion. There were lots stops and starts. Months when I didn't write a single word of it. Life was full of freelance writing assignments, household stuff, caring for the kids, and of course the more devilish distractions: Websites, television, and stacks upon stacks of books.
Of course I still have to edit it, and edit it again, and then probably edit it once more. I have to write a synopsis and a query letter. I need to have someone else edit it. Then maybe get second and third opinions. I need to find an agent who will have me. And I need to wish on every star I see that I'll be lucky enough to actually get the damn thing published. Because I know luck probably has more to do with it than talent. If that doesn't work, I'll publish it myself. Then I'll start the entire process again with my second novel.
I took this photo this morning on my crappy, out-of-date phone midway through my early morning run. There was fog on the field and the air was so heavy with humidity, it made it hard to breathe. I circled the track again and again, not really getting anywhere but feeling like I was accomplishing it all.
And that's exactly how I feel about this novel. It's nothing and it's everything. It has taken me to a whole new place... even if I never actually get anywhere with it.
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