It was a mistake to think the old man couldn’t afford to lie to me. Every damn kid in the city wanted a crack at the floating mechanical brains that had crushed their homes and their futures in one afternoon. The old man knew, as Hunter should have known, that the cheapest way to find good help was to throw a few dozen hopeful lives at the Stronghold and start training the two or three that came back in one or two pieces.
I finished the first draft of my novel today. Yes, you read that correctly. Finished.
Is it publishable? Nope. Is it even good? I doubt it. Is it done? Emphatic hell yes. Good and publishable will come in time. Right now I’m basking in the glow of done.
The next step will be to let it simmer for a bit, maybe work on some short stories or brainstorm another long project, then begin the revision process with fresh eyes.
I am so pumped.
I’ve been slowly chipping away at the novel. I’m hoping to have the first draft finished by the end of the month (year!), though with all this wonderful not-at-work time coming up I may just screw around a lot. We’ll see how it goes. Either way, I’m at the end: there’s the bad guy, there’s the good guys, time to do their thing. Awesome.
I haven’t been outside since 6:50 this morning, but I hear Michigan has been mixing up a frozen latte of death, so the drive home should be interesting.
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