Sixty. It blinked. It read. It said sixty. Sure there were notes of things to fix, but it would take an hour tops. Those sixty pages. I looked up, bags under my eyes. I grimaced. “I can do it.”
My lips were swollen and chapped, parched from the endurance required. I smacked my lips and went, “I will defeat you. I will defeat the giant in front of me!”
In my moment of resignation, when I would allow it to wait until tomorrow, a friend walked up beside me, stalwart. His chest puffed, his standard was still untouched, and he didn’t even look at me when he said, “I’m about to edit.” Then he looked down, reached out, and said, “Come with me. Join me on this quest. The world will not wait for our stories.”
To hell with it, I thought. To hell with sleep! I took his hand. I stood up. I went after those final sixty pages!
Ugh…so so close. Yet it feels so far away. Will be in to the publisher tomorrow, though. And then I will wash my hands of it.
Fantasy Writer and Cartographer
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"Before the sea she stood, still as a statue but for the wind rippling in her loose lavender-grey dress and toying with her black hair - it billowed in the salty breath of the ocean like a flag of defiance."
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Author of science fiction and fantasy stories, choosing to write the stories that he would love to read.
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Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
"Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar" - E.B. White
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I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.