218 pages. 66,000 words, give or take a few. A book. About that year, that really bad year, when Rory was new and we both thought our lives had caroomed (no, really, spell-check, caroomed, I don’t know what you mean by caromed but it isn’t what I mean, not at all) to a very bad place, but only I get to write a book about it. Yet.
I just finished the draft. It’s a first draft. With a lot of sucky bits, and by that I don’t mean the bits wherein life sucked, but rather, the lousy transition and incomplete characterizations and whatnot. I drafted it. I revised it. And then I drafted the ending. And now it is drafted. All of it.
Which means now I can go to bed.
Fantastic! Congratulations on this major step.
So very, very proud and happy for you!
Very cool. I’d love to read it.
AWESOME. Brava! Can’t wait to read the finished product. You’re a wonderful writer and you have a powerful and honest story to share. I have so much respect for you!
That’s wonderful news KJ! Congrats!