I’ve noticed that when I’m really excited about what I’m writing and it no longer feels like work, I get more writing done. For example, today I finished the first draft of Book 3, began the first draft of Book 4, and typed up over four thousand words. I guess it’s been a pretty big day for me, but really, nothing out of the ordinary happened. It’s so weird to have reached such a milestone in my head, but it doesn’t really count for anything. I’m not published. No one knows or cares about this detail of my writing life.
When I met with my former high school teacher on Friday, we talked about my writing quite a bit. Three years ago, he asked for a signed first edition of Book 1 “when it comes out.” He’s not the only teacher to ask for that. What amuses me is that I always say “if” I get published and my high school teachers would say “when”. They had such faith in me. Of course, these were teachers who taught sociology or science or social studies, so I don’t know how well they’d guess at my chances of being published, but I appreciate it all the same.
When I met with my friend Hannah, we talked about my stories. She’s one of the two readers to ever read the first draft of Books 1 and 2. The other is my sister. My sister, however, is still trying to avoid all the spoilers of my books. Hannah has graciously given me a green light to tell her anything I want about what might happen or will happen or did happen. If I died before I could finish Book 4 (the last of the series), Hannah would be the only person in the world to know how things end. Sort of. I mean, I don’t even know how things end, but Hannah knows as much as anyone could at this point.
I suppose my former teacher and Hannah would be pleased to know about this development. Still, I’ve only finished the first draft and I don’t plan to submit Book 1 anywhere until I’ve done at least ten drafts. It’s a long way to go, but I’ll get there.