I have finished my novel.
I can't even comprehend it. This project started a year ago in a creative writing class. The assignment was to write either a short story or the first chapter of a novel. I had already written short stories and short screenplays for other classes, so a novel chapter seemed like the best option. And by best, I mean easiest; I was under no obligation to have a perfectly contained ending to a single chapter.
But then I liked what I had written. I really liked it. And so did the people in my class workshop, and the professor. In one of the written critiques I received, a request was made for me to write the rest of the novel so the reviewer could read it. And somewhere along the road of positive feedback and loving what I had written, I found myself wanting to finish the story.
So much for the easy option.
One year later, I have just typed the final words of my first novel into the computer. Now, granted, there are several pages of handwritten work that have to be typed in, and of course there's the whole revision process, but the story is complete.
I will be the first person to admit I am not the greatest at actually completing projects. Which makes this such a huge accomplishment for me personally. It gives me something of a self-esteem boost to know that I can complete something that I chose to do, that did not have a grade attached to it.
In honor of this momentous occasion (Hey, it's a big deal for me. ^_^ C'est magnifique. Pass the eggs. Read the first blog post if that made no sense.) I have decided to share my favorite passage from the book with you.
To give you a little bit of background, the novel is called Slayer. It is set in 2172. The main character is Clarise, a government assassin. Her partner in legal crime is Peter, the leader of the assassins. This paragraph reveals Clarise's thoughts on their relationship. Without further ado, my favorite paragraph from the very first, now completed, draft of Slayer:
We know each other in an out, but we keep a wall between us still. There are things we'll never say. Sometimes he looks at me and I see it in his eyes, like he wants to ask me for something, but I never let him follow through. To ask aloud and to give permission, both mean being vulnerable, giving the other person a chance to hurt you. And neither one of us knows how to be gentle enough with the other to follow those impulses.