I feel drunk. Very very drunk. Yet I am pedaling (to nowhere) on a stationary bike at the gym. Everyone is very focused on their ear buds and tiny screens, moving very quickly and, like me, going nowhere.
Damn it the urge to stand up on my bike seat and shout at the top of my lungs I JUST FINISHED MY NOVEL is overwhelming. Not “I finished a draft but there is still editing to be done.” Not “I’m almost there but still working out a plot point.” Not “I need to refine dialog.”
I’m actually done.
I tried to let it rest. Three days passed. I gained a pound each of those three days. I couldn’t do it. Their voices were screaming inside me. Finish it!
What happens when a type A person starts getting creative? This is what happens. And I fucking love it.
I’m going out tonight — friends, food, booze and a band — a perfect night. I implore you, raise a glass tonight writers, photographers, musicians, inventors, creators of delicious snacks, all of you artists. Raise a glass to your fearless creations and celebrate with me.
Cheers to you all!