I finished…I finished…I finished another book this week. Yeah! I happy danced all around my house for a whole day.
Oh crap, it’s only the beginning of who knows how many drafts. Ugh!
Yep, that’s my life, a never-ending story of write to rewrite. Yet, I wouldn’t choose to be anything but a writer. I love it—the giggles when the words are flowing and even the tears when they’re not. The process of creating something from nothing satisfies my soul in a way I don’t think anything else could. I’m so grateful my husband dared me all those years ago to put my thoughts to paper. I don’t think he was quite prepared for the monster it set loose in me, but it’s too late now. This monster won’t be ignored.