It feels unreal. If you’d have told me two years ago that I would be this close to finishing a book, let alone one that comes in at over a hundred thousand words so far, I’d have first laughed my ass off, then checked your temperature with real concern for your well being. But that’s where I am. I just got finished writing Chapter 23 of 25 that I have outlined, and though I know there are some serious rounds of editing in my future, I’m seriously stoked.
So far, the story has taken me on a trip through the American Southwest, given me an education on exoplanets and astrophysics, tested my tolerance and privilege, rattled my confidence in my knowledge of internal combustion engines, shown me how much a part of my life alcohol has been, and reminded me how fortunate I am to have the friends and loved ones in my life who have stood by me through this and continue to do so. Whether your family is blood or found, they can make all the difference in helping you become something you never believed you could.
That being said, there is no way I’m stopping now. This train is rolling, and it’s going to keep on going through the end of this book and into the next. And the next. I’ve been writing down notes for new stories for all of the people I’ve gotten to know so well in the last year, having brought them to life on this tiny little laptop on my couch, and there is so much there, it couldn’t possibly be contained in one volume.
