Last night, I finished the first draft of my current novel. After I typed the last words, I hit save, closed my laptop, and stared at my closet doors.
From my writing perch, AKA my bed, I thought about all the hours I’d spent creating this story. It was six months of good/hard//exhausting.
And now it’s time to leave story world and become Ruthless Editor.
I wanted to do something to celebrate getting over this big hurdle, but I didn’t want to get out of my pajama pants, so I told my husband and kids to get ice cream and live it up without me.
How did I celebrate? By watching an Alfred Hitchcock Hour on YouTube by myself.
And now, to kill my darlings.