I'm almost afraid to read it today but this is it. I've finished the first draft of my novel. It's actually my third novel-length manuscript but does my first, desk drawer effort, count? How about the one I wrote in my sleep for the "Three day novel contest?"
This, of course, is the big one. This one I'll polish up so shiny somebody will have to publish it. That is the point, right?
My husband took me out to celebrate last night. He is supportive. I am secretive and sensitive about my creative process. I never tell him what I'm working on until it's done. When I described it to him, over wine and Ahi tuna, he told me he liked it. This is not a given. My husband reads so widely in the genre, I've given up buying SF for him. His wit is so incisive, I was afraid of getting cut. Fortunately, he liked it.
Enough bragging, it's time to start editing.
Labels: SF, Writing