I’m a writer

It is 6 am on a cold Tuesday morning as I write this.
I have been awake for an hour or so, mind too active to sleep again.
I have just added 500-ish words to my book. They aren’t very good words. Not bad either.
They are shitty first draft words and oh my god, some of them stink up the place.
I don’t care. It is my book.
And the book went through such a journey. For most of the year it slept, as I agonized about how to finish the story. The start came easily. The middle started and stopped several times and then it came to a grinding halt.
And then in November, in the middle of writing on another project that I really didn’t want to write anymore, the idea to finish my book dawned on me.
Almost 20.000 words of new shitty first draft words later, I can see an ending looming that makes me feel happy.
I know that after writing the end, the real work starts, editing my baby. And that is something I can’t wait to do. There are so many tantalizing puzzle pieces to put in place. I have a lot of scenes that I need to shuffle around. I have scenes that are half finished, with ideas scribbled below.
All of these puzzle pieces will eventually lead to one finished story that I can’t wait to slap a cover on.
And I know that if I spend each day of 2017 writing in some shape or form, whether it is my book or my daily micro poetry, I am the luckiest woman in the world.
I am so happy and grateful that I get to write, that I get to shape words into something that means the world to me.
I’m a writer.

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