When I wrote THE END on my second draft of Keepers, I cried. Just two tears mind, I am dead inside after all.
I cried because it was the end of more than just a marathon of RSI, obscenely late nights and incessant tapping that drove my wife to distraction. It felt like I had achieved my first real step towards freedom and the life I really want because a) I’d completed something real and tangible, all 72108 words were staring back at me like tiny dancing stick men.
And b) because I knew, this time, unlike my first draft, it wasn’t a total pile of turd.
After my two lonely tears rapidly dried up, I glanced at the clock on my laptop. The time blinked back at me, it read 1:04am. I’d sat and written 4025 words in the last 3.5 hours without moving. I was gobsmacked, that was four…
View original post 1,934 more words