Remember when I tried “finishing” a manuscript last time? The idea that had turned into a full blown attempt at finishing a book while moving back in with my mother, raising my toddler and trying not to kill my husband?
2008 was a blur that bled into 2009 and it was a weird pocket of time. But there amidst the changing and stalling was this book, and hours spent at my iMac stuffed in a closet then upgrading to my parent’s garage. It was days researching queries and highlighting and pouring more coffee. A whole world I didn’t understand was there, waiting if I wanted to try, but I never did. The story I felt ready to jump in with, the one I gave all those months to was tucked into a drawer where it still lives today.
And now, here in 2013, I’m doing it again. Because I have to. Because another story wanted to be told. So I’m doing it, here at a bigger desk in a house that bears my name with that toddler a hell of a lot bigger and away at school and his baby sister tucked into her crib in her own bedroom taking her nap.