The novel is done. Again.
Draft III, the big one, the one that matters, is now finished, printed off and sitting on my desk looking like a big, sexy, manuscript. This was the draft that took the story that I wrote and left all the shitty parts of it to die in an alley. The work has come through the other side, and is now a piece of glory. Well, maybe not a piece of glory, but I’m pretty fucking proud of it.
I better be, as the third draft took a whole fucking year to do. But it’s done now, and I’m going to celebrate.
One step closer.