Riding down.
Tonight I finished the first draft of a novel that came about from an idea that I first got nearly seventeen years ago. I keeping picking it up, putting it down, picking it up, and putting it back down. That last time, I put it down for over a decade. I didn't pick it back up until I'd figured out how to get it to work. I'd seen more of the world, talked to more people, had more of a goal of what it was I wanted to articulate beyond the story itself. What the story was about.
I don't have the full idea yet. It's just the rough draft; I was telling myself the story to figure out the story.
And still. Seventeen years.
Booyah.
I don't have the full idea yet. It's just the rough draft; I was telling myself the story to figure out the story.
And still. Seventeen years.
Booyah.

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