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I'm excited. It's been a slow road to finishing a story, any story. So this is a milestone of sorts. It did set a fire under me, though, because I truly did enjoy writing those last words, closing the pages to a work in progress. Methinks I need to do it again. It could be a nice habit!
I'm also scared. Here's another baby, thrown out of the nest and into the world. He's no longer mine, he's on his own.
Ah, well. It was a wonderful experience, regardless. You know I always liken writing books to childbirth, and so it is. The huge joy, excitement...pain...fear of the unknown...the giving birth and then the letting go and being helpless to defend them when others don't like them. And being happy when some do like them.
But, like childbirth, I'd do it again and again.
You're on your own, Purly old boy. Good luck.