So, naturally my house is a wild, dirty mess, and look at the shoes in my closet:
But I did it. I did it!!! One year after I thought I was really done, I completed another draft of the historical fantasy novel manuscript I had been working on for years. I sent it to my agent about two hours ago.
I was so looking forward to writing this post. Now, the eagerness is replaced by a kind of numb disbelief. I thought I was going to celebrate this. But the moment the 300-page file left my inbox, doubts started trickling in. As in, who am I kidding sending such crazy nonsense to my agent?! In fact, a huge part of me is kind of positive right now that I have just produced 300 pages of worthlessness.
But, so what, really?
I gave this manuscript my nights, my mornings, my afternoons, my tears, my joy and my nerves, and that’s what counts, doesn’t it? I told the story. I told and re-told it.
And now it’s finished, finished, FINISHED — three hundred pages that aren’t pressing on me anymore.
I am DONE.
Katiaesque 
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