I don’t want to brag. Okay, I kind of do, so here I go. I am done. Finished. Doing a little Irish jig because this girl, just completed writing her first book. I can’t even believe it. When I said those words “I’m done” to my family, my grin was palpable.

The scariest action I took yesterday was sending it off to a potential editor who will peruse it with a fine-tooth comb. The fear centers around releasing it out of my obsessive clutch. I am wondering if I did enough revising. And, even at this very moment, I am still bantering with my multiple personalities on how I could improve it. Stop. The. Insanity.

So now I wait to hear from this prospective editor hoping that she has the time to take on my project. If not, I will be on the hunt for someone else. Once it is edited, I will send it to the literary agents that were interested. I don’t know what the future holds. One way or another, this book will find its readers.

I have spent the last five months, surprising myself. Why? Because I made a commitment to stop making excuses. To get off my ass and finish this book. It boils down to simply acknowledging that failure lies in the realm of not taking action. Not trying because it takes me out of my comfort zone. I don’t want to be the girl that didn’t take that leap of faith.

What’s next? Well, I am taking a breather for a few days. But after that, I am tackling book two. While creating this story, I was flooded with new plot ideas and wrote them down since I can barely remember why I have walked into a room. The process of diving into something new will distract me from obsessing over my first born manuscript. Perhaps, my new characters won’t be as difficult as my previous ones. Maybe they will be more cooperative. Probably not, but I can dream.