Diet Pepsi's strewn about. Half a Milky Way. Two string cheese wrappers. Wal Mart photo sleeves. Steampunk tarots. Two headphones. Converse shoe box. Two computers, one blaring Fall Out Boy. And then "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons. On repeat.
The door is open to the porch. The sink is full of dishes. Water bottles strewn on the side table. The actual writing desk buried under brochures from Europe.
This apartment has been holding on, trying to breathe through the chores that have gone undone, so I could get to this point.
This draft ... the first draft that I really feel is how I would like this book to be ... was just completed.
Revisions will probably start before the sun goes down, but I did it.
The ending is what it should be. The characters are what they should have been all along. And now the fun part starts, where I get to chip away at an actually sturdy tree trunk of storytelling. I don't have to go back and rework the plotting, the pacing, the overall framework. It is all here now. Now I can play.
I almost gave up on it. But I made it to the end, and months before I thought I would.
Now excuse me, while I do a dance party to Save Rock and Roll.
What is this?
Dawson is an editor and writer and MFA student at Stonecoast. She writes stuff.