All this time I have been chugging along in fits and starts, wondering if the book would ever find a plot at all. Hucking out that 75 pages and starting over, that felt incredible. The fear about it was outweighed only by the knowledge that it was the only way I could make the book survive. And now, finally, an ending. A place for Pandora to arrive. Exhausted, eternal, Pandora.
Dear Weird Running Habit I Have Developed in Middle Age,
Thanks for the salty upper lip, the aching hips, the countless hours of deeply interesting solitude, the sightseeing tour of a beautiful city, the sunrises, the courage, the pain, the peace, and all the writing inspiration. Who knew you'd end up being such a loyal mutherfucker?
Love,
Sara Elise
I'm slow to catch up, but congratulations nonetheless!!
ReplyDeleteIt's funny that I used to call ideas that broke the surface of my brain "shower thoughts" because that's usually when they hit. Now they're "running thoughts." Never would have thought it in a million years...