• anjelicagraceauthor

Holy Sh*t, I wrote a book!

I'm a crier by nature. I'm mad--I cry. I'm sad--I cry. Insanely happy--yep, I cry.


But my tears are usually of the more negative emotions. Because let's be honest, happiness happens daily, but being insanely happy, well, that takes something special. It takes something big.


Something like writing "The End" for the first time ever after you've completed your first full-length novel.


And, as timing would have it, today was that day for me. According to my Pacemaker counter, I started this book, my journey as an author, 108 days ago on November 30th, 2018.


108 days.


That alone is mind boggling to me. I don't know if I have ever consistently stuck to something that I didn't have to do (school/work/sports) for that long. Much less stuck to something that required hours upon hours of pouring my soul into the words on the screen. Researching so that the aspects of the book that required real, knowledgeable, detail were all accurate--or as accurate as possible. Sharing a part of me that may come with absolutely zero reward, a lot of criticism, and opening myself up in a way I never have before.


108 days.


That's how long it took me to write 79,756 words.


So yea, I cried. I cried insanely happy tears. I shouted (okay, said loudly at the foot of the stairs in our home), "Holy shit! I wrote a book!" I shared a picture with the best friend that encouraged me to start writing to begin with, and then took a call from her in my still speechless, emotionless, stunned stage. That was before the crying. It hadn't actually sunk in yet. And then, I let it sink in. I told my family. And it hit me--I wrote a book.


I'm not the type to be over-confident, or to boast about myself. I hate doing that, really. It's not me. So sharing this with such enthusiasm is not normal.


But today, I'm proud of me. Really proud. That's a foreign concept to me, too. One that also brings tears. I don't know if I've ever felt this way about myself or what I've accomplished, either. So I'm going to cherish it for the moment. I'm going to relish in the rare, insanely happy tears.


And then, tomorrow or maybe Tuesday, I'm going to get back to work. Figure out editing and alpha/beta readers. Put my nose back to the grindstone.


Because I wrote a book. And I'm not going to give up on my dream of publishing now. I've still got a long way to go.

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This all seems so surreal still. Writing a book. People reading it. Preparing to publish. It's such a whirlwind of activities and feelings. My grandparents ask constantly how things are going, and if