I've always believed that we're all here for a reason. Often, we spend our lives searching for that reason and sadly, some people never find it. When my son Hunter was 3 years old he used to walk around the house saying "Where's my purpose? Mom, I can't find my purpose." I always liked to think that he was searching for some profound meaning at such a young age. Really, he just heard the word and liked it so he was constantly saying it.

I guess with the death of my brother and father last year, this whole "meaning of life" question has been at the forefront of my mind. It's why I lost my way with school and why I spend so many of my days frantically working on one creative project or another. My brother had a lot of talent. He was a wonderful painter and was very creative. What did he do with this talent? Absolutely nothing. His paintings hang all over my mom's house and will never see a gallery or be made into prints. My dad was a writer and still one of my idols. Is he a published, famous author? Nope. He stuck mainly to poetry, even though he knew there was no real market for it. He published poems on the internet like so many other people and while he may have tried to become published early in his life, he gave up on that and just settled for writing every now and then and posting his poems on webpages where nobody would ever really see them or remember his name.

As a child, I always believed I was destined to be famous. I was planning to move back to California (where I was born) and become an actress when I grew up. Marylin Monroe was my idol, not because of any talent she had or how beautiful she was. No, I saw this woman who died a long time ago and noted how so many people still knew her. How you can go to stores still and buy posters of her and recognized the fact that when she died, the world mourned. Oh, she wasn't the only one. James Dean, Jim Morrison, Elvis Presley. These were all people I looked at that made an impact on me in my early teen years. I decided that when I died the world would mourn me. That even after I was gone, people would remember me and wish they could have met me. Sad thing is, I wasn't focused on being famous while I was alive. It was all about being famous after death and leaving a footprint on the world.

Once I started having kids, I resigned myself to the idea that THEY were my footprint. I decided I wasn't destined for greatness; that my goal in life was to raise kids who were destined for greatness. So I put everything I had into raising them and gave up on any ideas of being famous, publishing a book, becoming well-known.

So what started me back on this path? The kids began to grow up and I started realizing that my kids may be destined for greatness but that doesn't mean I'm not. Having an encouraging boyfriend helped really. He encouraged me to go to school for what I wanted instead of what was practical and I began working towards a creative writing degree. But that practical side took over eventually and I began to feel like I was wasting my time.

Now here I am, at 33 years old, with no clear goal or purpose to my life. Every day feels like a struggle for me, trying to find something meaningful to spend my time on. I draw a picture and I feel this sense of accomplishment while I'm drawing it. But after it's done, I set it on the shelf where I can see it and I begin to wonder what the point of drawing it was. Now it's just sitting on a shelf where nobody really sees it or cares about it. It doesn't even have any useful, practical value. The same thing happens with my photography. I have a finished novel and another one that I started sitting on my computer where nobody will read them or get any use out of them. It all feels so pointless creating things that nobody cares about. But I've always been a creative person and I have this extreme NEED to create something all the time. I just wish I could find a way to maintain that feeling of accomplishment and feel like there's a reason I'm doing the things I do.

Wren tells me that if I want something, I need to go balls to the wall after it. I guess I've just never been that type of person. I'm not a competitive person, and I'm certainly not pushy about things, even when it's something I really want. But maybe I COULD be that person....if I could just figure out what it IS that I really want.

Am I a photographer? A writer? An artist?

I don't know. I'm just me. And eventually I need to get to the point where I feel like that's good enough.

I actually managed to finish quite a few of my tasks yesterday. The Eternal Procrastinator is on a roll. Of course, it helps that I fell asleep on the couch at 9pm and slept until 1am. Because it means all night I've had no interruptions from kids and have been able to get things done. I set a goal for myself to edit chapters 4 and 5 but once I got going I decided to edit chapter 6 too. So far, I've managed to add 1235 words to my 106,804 word novel. You see, I figure that once my manuscript goes through the scrutiny of an agent, and then a publisher, it's going to be so chopped up that it may come up short of my 100,000 word mark. So it helps to add things now while I can.

There's something else I've noticed, not just in my book but in other people's books as well. By the end of a book, the author has gotten so comfortable writing in the characters voice that it just tends to flow naturally. Plus, characters have a way of developing all on their own. What this means, however, is that in the beginning of the book the character's voice can often sound wrong. I've noticed this with Camden, my main character. Her personality and quirks developed throughout the book so that when I went back and read the first few chapters, some of it just didn't sound like things Camden would say. So in my notes I've written things like "change for voice" or "change for character" or "add" so that I can then go back to my computer and work on areas that are off. It's working pretty well for me and I'm anxious to get this editing done.

Here's why I'm so anxious. There are a couple of reasons really. I'm such a numbers person that I just sat here and figured this out. I've added 1235 words in 6 chapters. That's approximately 206 words per chapter. I still have 24 chapters to edit. If I manage to stay on this track I would be adding another 4944 words to my novel. Add that to my 1235, plus my total word count and I've just changed my book from 106,804 words to 112,983. In my queries I'm touting this as a 107,000 word novel but in reality, it could be more like 113,000 words. Will that make a difference in the end? I honestly don't know. But I feel it's important for me to get this editing done before I send out more queries, just so I'm not misleading agents.

And here's the more important reason that I need to get the edit finished. I have more stories in my head that are just dying to get out. One of them is a story that came to me last summer. I sat down then and I plotted out characters, choosing names for them and working on little bios. I wrote out a basic summary of the story too. I'm not even sure now that I still have those notes but it doesn't matter. The story is still in my head and now that I've finished one book, and developed a kind of writing style, I'm looking forward to writing that book with the same style. However, there's a small part of it that's worrying me. I realize that when I write it, I'll be walking a tightrope and have to be very careful to keep my main character likeable. This could be tough so I'm not too anxious to get started yet.

But there's another story that's been in there since I was writing my novel. Ok, this isn't totally true. The story itself hasn't been in my head, but the character has. She's been there, poking me occasionally, saying "Hey, remember me? Think of a story for me already. I'm getting bored in here."

And the night before last, the story for her came to me. Not the complete story, mind you. But the basic idea came into my head. Maybe it festered while I slept. Maybe yesterday while I went about my daily happenings, the seed began to grow. But this morning, while discussing the idea with Wren, it was like that moment when the plant suddenly breaks through the soil and shoots up overnight. The story developed more in my head and now, there's no way I can keep it contained. I quickly finished editing chapter 6 and I plan to sit here now and do some character plotting, then work up a plot outline. I'm going to try putting off beginning the book until this other one is edited so hopefully my plan will work. It's too hard to switch from one story to another without making my characters appear too much alike.

So this morning, my goal is simply to outline my next book. But by the end of the day, I want to have more of my first book edited. I plan to get through chapter 10 before bedtime tonight, but if I happen to go further, that would be great. I want it done by the end of the week so I can get started on this next book. It would be nice to have two books finished that I'm sending out queries for (separately, of course) because if one of them doesn't appeal to an agent then maybe the other one would. And once I have an agent and can manage to get one published, surely it will be easier to do the same with the other book.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. What do I know? I'm just a mother of 6 from Spokane, Washington who has never had any experience trying to become a published author. It's all very daunting and a bit scary, but since my dad died I've become more determined than ever to push past all of that fear and just TRY. I mean, it's not like some agent or publisher is going to be browsing through deviantart and see a piece of my writing and go "This woman is magnificent! I simply MUST see if she's written any books that I can publish for her!" It's a nice thought, isn't it? But if I truly want to reach this goal (and oh, I truly do) then I'm gonna have to put some effort into it and go through all of the motions.

Ok, time for character plotting. First task, choosing names. (Ick)

Well, I did it. I sent out my first queries today. I've been putting this off for way too long and I've still only edited the first three chapters. I decided over the weekend that I need to set some goals for myself. I'd really like to start working on the second book, or even the other one that's been floating around in my head for awhile. But first I need to edit this one and start getting those queries sent.

So today I sent out 5 queries. It's not a lot but it's a good start. I'm being a bit picky about who I send them to. I've actually been reading some of their blogs because it gives me a good idea of what type of person they are. Realistically, if I'm going to have to work closely with this person, on a project that's kind of like one of my babies, I need it to be a person I can get along with and respect their opinion.

A few weeks ago, I went through all of the agents on Agent Query and compiled a list. I was actually quite meticulous about it, using columns and rows to separate them and give me space to put in dates when I sent things and dates when I received things. I looked for agents who accept chic lit and stuck to people who accept online queries for now. It really just makes sense these days to do online queries. It saves on paper, which is much better for our environment, and it takes a lot less time for responses.

So tonight my goal is to edit chapters 4 and 5. I have many other things I need to do, like lecturing kids, cleaning my room, setting up my sewing machine, yelling at kids, making dinner, cutting out the pieces of my tunic (once I torture the kids and make them tell me where a pair of scissors are), sewing my tunic (or at least starting on it) and maybe even playing a bit of my Sims if I can find the time. There just aren't enough hours in the day. Or there aren't enough of me. If only I could truly perfect the art of cloning, then my life would be perfect.

I guess sitting here writing a blog is just wasting time, huh? Ok then, time to get off my ass and get to work.

33 years old today. Ick. I had so many things I wanted to do by the time I was 30. I almost wish I had made a list. lol  Oh well. I actually have accomplished some of them, since having kids was my main goal. Writing a book and getting it published were more goals.

I really hate my birthday, always have. It's always so disappointing to me but I think it's because I always expect so much more than I've ever gotten. As a child, I'd see my friends having these great birthday parties where they got tons of presents and their parents treated them like a princess. They got to have slumber parties, or pool parties, or skating parties. I don't remember ever having an actual party for my birthday. Hell, the only presents I ever remember getting from my parents were my Jenny doll one year and some magazines another year. Funny thing is, the year I got my Jenny doll my sister got her Mandy doll. And the year I got two magazines, my sister got three magazines. It seemed to be common for them to buy my sister presents on my birthday yet I don't ever remember them buying me presents on her birthday. Despite this, every year I'd find myself getting more and more excited the closer it got to my birthday. I'd find myself thinking maybe this year will be different. This will be the year that they'll have some elaborate thing that they've been planning for weeks for me. I never went so far as to actually imagine what that thing would be, I just wanted to know that they actually planned ahead. That my birthday was important enough to them that they spent weeks, hell even days, planning something special for me and being excited that we were going to celebrate the day I arrived in this world. But year after year, my birthday was spent with my excitement slowly deflating. It wasn't like when you pop a balloon and all of the air goes out in one big gush. No, it was more like putting a tiny hole in that balloon so that all day long the air is leaking out slowly until, by the end of the day, all you're left with is an empty shell that no longer resembles that bright, shiny balloon you had when you woke up that morning.

My 15th birthday was the worst. I woke up that morning all excited. Mark and I had been together for a year and a half at that point and he wanted to plan something for us to do that day but I insisted we couldn't make any plans because I didn't know what my parents might be doing. So I bounced up the stairs all ready to be greeted with birthday wishes, to find the living room empty and the house quiet. The bathroom door was closed so I knocked on it and my dad was in there. He told me happy birthday through the door. I didn't see my mom anywhere, so I mentioned to my dad that Mark wanted to take me into town. My dad told me not to stay too long because my mom was at bingo and would want me there when she got home. Of course, that helped to fill my balloon up a little more hearing those words. I guess a part of me thought she wasn't REALLY at bingo. Maybe she was in town getting some decorations and presents and they were going to surprise me that evening.

So Mark picked me up and we headed into town. He decided to surprise me with.....bowling. This may have been a great plan for somebody other than me, but after a year and a half Mark knew that I hadn't bowled since I was 8 years old and had a bad memory from the last time I bowled. Oh, he knew. I guess he expected me to just sit and watch while he bowled. Normally, I didn't mind watching other people bowl but not on my birthday! I wanted something that was for ME, not for him. Lucky for me (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it), our car broke down on the way into town. It didn't actually break down, though, we just ran out of gas because Mark forgot to stop at the gas station. So we ended up walking (and hitch-hiking a bit) about 15 miles to the nearest gas station and back. By the time we got back to the car and put gas in there, it was getting late. We just ended up going to the store and getting a few things then headed back home.

When I got home, my mom was there. I ran up the stairs to her bedroom ready for my birthday to begin and found her asleep on her bed. I stood in the doorway and watched her for a minute, then told her I was home. Without opening her eyes, she simply said "Ok" and went back to sleep. Disappointed, I still wasn't ready to believe that was all they had in store for me. I went into the kitchen and proceeded to search every single cupboard or hiding spot I could think of, looking for the cake that I was sure she had bought for me while she was in town. There was nothing.

So I spent the afternoon of my 15th birthday down in my room crying, with Mark's arms wrapped around me. He was mad. He finally decided to get me out of that house and he took me to his house. We went straight down to his room and he left me there for a few minutes to go upstairs and get us stuff to drink. About an hour later, his mom came down. Mark had told her the whole story, so she had his dad drive her to the store out in Suncrest and she bought me 2 boxes of fudgesicles and 2 bags of caramels (my current obsessions) and she gave me a card with $20 inside. It was the weekend so a few of his sisters came out there with their families. By the end of the day, I had received $60 from various members of his family and Mark drove me back home.

This should have made up for everything, right? Well, you might think so. But it really just served to show me that my family didn't much care about me or my birthday. (Especially when I got home and there still wasn't one mention of the fact that it was my birthday.) It showed me that there really were families out there who celebrate their children. Very quickly, Mark's family became more like a family to me than mine ever had. Of course, Mark and I aren't together anymore and I'm not as close to his family as I once was. Here I am, though, at 33 years old, still wishing and hoping that somebody would make a big deal out of my birthday and show me that I'm important enough to actually PLAN something for me, instead of throwing something together at the last minute, almost like my birthday simply popped up at them out of thin air and said "Oh, by the way, here I am!"

I'm tired of feeling like my birthday is just one big disappointment. No matter how many times I tell myself not to get my hopes up, every year it's the same thing. I think I have cried every year on my birthday since that one I had when I was 15. This year it's not happening. I decided something while I was in the bathtub tonight. From now on, my birthday is my New Year. I don't need presents, or a cake, or a special birthday dinner, or a tiara and a naked man fanning me and feeding me grapes. Nope, I'm going to just look at it like the beginning of a new year, since really that's what it is. It's a new year in my life. So I'll be making resolutions and because they're birthday ones, I'll stick to them. I won't make resolutions that I can't keep either, but I plan for them to be very personal. I'll spend the day tomorrow (since it's only 2am) thinking about the changes I want to make for that year, and the goals I want to accomplish. And at the end of the day, I'll document my resolutions in a blog somewhere so only I can see them.

So, for anyone who happens to read this (that means you, Dawn), Happy Jennifer's New Year day!!

It's been 6 months today since my dad passed away. I probably wouldn't have even thought about it except my mom called and reminded me. She was going to the cemetery to bring flowers to him and wondered if I wanted to go with her. Since I didn't feel like dragging a 4 year old over there, I told her no. I have to say it kind of makes me angry that my mom is bringing him flowers when she's been living with another man for the last 2 months. It shouldn't make me angry, but it does. I know she has every right to find her happiness (which this guy definitely ISN'T), but I guess a part of me feels like she's lying or being deceitful by bringing my dad flowers. I know my dad would want her to be happy but I think, if he's watching us, he's probably very upset with her for being with Doug, who is an alcoholic asshole and treats her like crap. I know my dad wasn't always nice to her but at least he loved her. This guy Doug doesn't love my mom. Right now he's totally using her for her money. When she goes through $10,000 in less than a month and has nothing to show for it, you know damn well she's spending a lot of money on him.

I'm getting off track here. It's hard for me to believe it's been 6 months. It feels like just yesterday that he was here, yet it seems like a lifetime since I've seen his face or heard his voice. Last night I came across the picture of me and him that was taken after he was diagnosed with cancer. I actually had to quickly close the picture because it hurts so much seeing his face and knowing that I'll never actually see him again. I feel the same way about my brother and it's been a little over a year since he died. How is it possible that I won't be seeing them, talking to them, laughing with them?

There are so many times when something happens, or I hear something and I think "Oh, I can't wait until Dad/Marcus gets back so I can tell them about that." I often feel like they're away on a trip and will be back soon. Then it hits me all over again that I won't ever be able to share these things with them. Whenever I draw a new picture, I think of Marcus and how much it hurts that I won't ever be able to show him how good I've gotten at drawing. He was always the artist but his art was painting and he couldn't do portraits. My art is totally different from his since my medium is pencils and I mainly do portraits. It would be nice to share my work with him and see what he thinks.

The biggest thing me and my dad had in common was our love for writing. My dad always wanted to by a published author but as far as I know all he ever wrote were short stories and poems. I grew up loving to write and my dream for so long has been to finish a book. My secondary dream was to get it published. Part of the reason I didn't feel this tremendous sense of accomplishment when I finished my book is because my biggest supporter, my dad, wasn't here to share in the triumph with me. Sometimes I sit here and think that I just HAVE to work as hard as I can to get published, for my dad. My first book will be dedicated to him, of course, and probably any book I publish after that. But other times I think....how can I get a book published without my dad here to cheer me on and tell me how proud he is of me? Even though the book I wrote was DEFINITELY not his genre, I know my dad would have read every word and told me exactly what he thought of it. He would have been honest with me too; he always was. And I know he would have loved it and helped to encourage me to try to get it published.

I'm writing this in my livejournal account for one big reason. If I wrote this on MySpace then all of my friends would sit there and tell me things like "Your dad is looking down at you, encouraging you, and he's proud of you, blah, blah, blah." Ok, so maybe they wouldn't have ACTUALLY said the "blah, blah, blah" part but it would have come across the same. It's not like I don't think about things like that. I try to tell myself that just because he isn't here, that doesn't mean he isn't aware of my accomplishments. But obviously it's not the same. Nothing ever will be again.

I miss you, Dad. More than I ever thought I would, more than I could ever express. Life feels so empty without you in it. Some days I lay here in my bed and wonder, what's the point of having dreams and goals if life is just going to end before you ever have a chance to reach them?I wonder how anyone ever survives losses like I have without coming out changed. I don't think they do. It's obvious to me that I've changed; I just can't decide if the changes are good or bad. I love you, Dad. I hope, wherever you are, that you're with Marcus, your brother and your parents. I hope that you're free of pain now, and are immune to writer's block. I hope that Dr. Who is playing 24 hours a day. I hope...that you're living in your world. Here's the poem I wrote for your memorial:

Dad’s Heaven

Jennifer Adams

 

Somewhere there’s a world

Where all of us preside

And when you look at me

Your eyes are filled with pride.

 

The snow falls freely to the ground

As we marvel at the sight

The beer is cold, the coffee hot

And we sit and write all night.

 

During thunderstorms

We all pile onto your bed

And watch out the window

At the light show overhead.

 

We have fondue in the living room

And dance to Christmas tunes

With chocolate-covered deep-fried steaks

And lazy afternoons.

 

The Seahawks win the Super Bowl

All the world loves Kasey Kahne

John Denver sings us songs

And never left on that jet plane.

 

Somewhere this world does exist

Somehow we’ll find a way

Until that time is upon us, Dad

I will miss you more each day.

I wrote this almost 6 months ago, but as I reread it I realize that last line has come true. I really do miss you more each day, Dad. I wonder how many days can pass before this pain builds up so much that I can't handle it anymore.

Ok, I've edited the first 3 chapters the best I can for now. My next step is writing my synopsis for my query and this is the part I'm the most nervous about. I need to just start it by summarizing the story and not worry so much about how it sounds. Then I can go back afterward and change things, make it a bit more appealing, that type of thing.

I've been putting this off for quite awhile, but the time is up. I've gotta force myself to do it now.

So apparently my dog has become obsessive. I had a cat who used to lick herself in the same spot all the time. She would lick and lick until there was no hair and she was left with a pink bald spot. We had to get rid of her recently and maybe my dog is having a hard time with that. She has now taken to licking my blankets. I can't get her to stop either. She'll lay here on the bed licking and end up leaving a big wet spot. Now, I'm all for wet spots on my bed when they're left by ME, but not when my dog leaves them. I'll tap her on the nose and tell her to quit and she'll go right back to licking. I don't quite get why she's doing it or how to get her to stop.

Although, on the bright side, it means I may never have to do laundry again.

Last week I ordered a couple of books from Amazon. I ordered Writer's Market and Guide to Literary Agents. I was so excited to get them, I've been tracking them daily and the first thing I've been doing when I wake up is checking the front porch. Today, still in my bathrobe I went upstairs to get a Mountain Dew and checked the porch, even though their website was saying I would get them Saturday. Ok, so technically it's already Saturday but my sleep has been so messed up since writing my book so it's still Friday to me. And it will be until I go to sleep and wake up. So since I wasn't really expecting to see anything, you can imagine how excited I was when I spotted the box under the mailbox. They were there!

I ran down to my room, grabbed a pair of scissors and tore into the box. And all I've done since then is sit on my bed with the books and my laptop. I've been sitting here going to websites, making lists in Word of all of the agents I'm planning to send queries to, and reading blogs written by agents and authors. It's been fun, but I also realize that all I'm doing is procrastinating.

I haven't done any editing on my book. I finally printed the whole thing and it's currently sitting next to me in a binder, looking all pretty. So what's keeping me from editing it? I could pretend it's my busy schedule with 6 kids and college courses but that would totally be a lie. I've sat here and drawn pictures or played with my Sims all night instead of editing.

*Side note: On my Sims I made all of the characters from my book! It was lots of fun because I got to see them come to life (as much as the Sims is considered "life"), and I got to make their houses and the bookstore.

Back to editing. I realized if I sat right down to edit it, then it wouldn't change much. I needed some space from the book first. But really, a few days would have done it, so that's not it. I made up some questions for my test audience to answer when they finished. I figured it would help me in my editing knowing what the reader is thinking when they read it and if there are places I need to add or remove things. So far, only 1 person has finished the entire book (everyone else has been busy) and she hasn't had time to answer the questions so I don't want to start editing quite yet. But, well, I know I could still do an initial edit and then wait for feedback to do a second edit. So that's not it either.

So what's stopping me from editing it? I really do know what it is but I've been trying to rationalize it in my own mind and blame it on other things. I don't want to edit it because I don't want to mess it up. It's like making a beautiful 3-tiered cake and then realizing that you need to take the whole thing apart and re-do the bottom layer. It's a messy project and you can look at the cake and think "oh, it looks fine" while you still know it may not taste fine. Everything fell into place so well and I guess I'm worried if I start doing any major editing then I'm going to just mess it all up.

I wonder if anyone else has felt this way about their writing. Obviously someone has, but I wonder how common it is. I have no problem with an actual editor looking at it and giving me ideas for ripping it apart. And it's not like I don't have experience editing things myself. It's just different when I'm looking at my own work. I know how I want it to come across to my reader so when I read it, I see these things. I worry that other people won't, though.

So today while looking at how quickly I could send out queries, I kept putting it off. I told myself I don't want to do that until I at least have the first few chapters edited because if I get a response saying they want to see more, I'll want to quickly send it to them. But considering I wrote the book in 10 days, I think I could polish up a few chapters fairly quickly for an agent, huh? The query just makes me so nervous, though. I'm not really worried about my introduction, or telling about my achievements (what few I have), or my closing. It's the synopsis. It totally freaks me out to think about writing my own synopsis, especially after reading how important that part is. That's what could make or break my book really. It's what will get an agent to reject me or ask for more. It's all based on that one paragraph and for some reason, I'm afraid to even get started writing it.

I've made a decision, though. Tomorrow (Saturday) I need to focus on my criminology homework and test. But once that's done I won't have anything else pressing to do. So Saturday night and probably most of Sunday I'm going to work on my query and on getting my first three chapters edited. Hey, it's a goal at least. Once I get that done, I'll give myself some other goals. I know once I get past this scary part I'll have no problems doing it again. I just have to get past it.

I'm rambling, I know. I think it's time for sleep.

Ok, so this isn't the FINAL numbers because I have to edit and rewrite still. But at 10am Saturday, I finished my book. I started it around 9pm on Tuesday the 22nd. So it took me a little over 10 days. And that doesn't include all of the time I WASN'T writing or the times when I sat here for 5 hours with a chapter in front of me and barely wrote anything because I was getting distracted.

Ok, so final numbers. It is currently 106,805 words. It's 30 chapters. It's 190 pages in regular Word format, and if I put it in more of a "novel" format (as in, 4" by 6.75" size with quarter inch margins on each side and half inch margins on the top and bottom, then change my font to 10) it's 342 pages long. That's not bad, right?

So how exactly do you edit a book that size? Well, one chapter at a time, I guess. I'm printing it out and I plan to sit and read it on paper, making notes in red pen. Then I'll go back through in Word and rewrite it. I actually started printing it today but I only got through chapter 20 and then I ran out of ink. I would love to know why Walmart sells printers but doesn't sell the ink cartridges for those printers. I went to replace it and they don't even carry them. Oh, but they have the printer right there on the shelf.

So after I finished the last chapter, I took a nap. Yeah, a 4 hour nap after staying up all night. lol  But we're moving all of our stuff out of the house this weekend, so around 5:30pm I took Katie and Boogie over there to help Wren, J.R. and David get things done. We didn't leave there until midnight and I'm totally exhausted. I sat down on my bed with my computer and it was like it hit me all at once. I'm done with my book. I don't get to write about my characters anymore. I feel oddly depressed, like I just had a really good friend move far away. I mean, I still get to edit it and everything but I just don't feel like I thought I would.

This has been one of my life goals since I was like 12 years old. To actually FINISH writing a book. And I did it! I should be all excited and proud. Instead it just makes me sad. Oh, it's kind of like the feeling I get when I watch the last episode of Friends. It makes me sad that it's over. I can go back and watch reruns of Friends anytime I want (especially since I have all of the DVDs) but the characters aren't there anymore and they'll never make a new one.

I already plan to write another book with these characters. I planned to from the beginning and it kind of formed more in my head while I plotted out this one and wrote it. I have a notebook with pages and pages of things from this book like timelines, the chapters that major events are in, character summaries, ideas that I wanted to see happen, etc. In fact, the last page is just me writing down everything that needed to happen before it was done, so I wouldn't forget anything.

I desperately want to start the second book, or at least to start kind of plotting it out a bit. But I refuse to do that until this one is edited and completely finished.

Ok, I know this is very boring for most of you. I'm so tired. Over the last 10 days I've been averaging 3-5 hours of sleep a night. I wish I could just lay down right now and sleep until Monday but unfortunately we still have SO much stuff to do at the house tomorrow. So maybe I'll lay down with my printed chapters and my red pen and edit myself to sleep.

Wednesday night, I stayed up all night writing. I finally went to sleep around 7:30am on Thursday and had Wren wake me up at 11am so I wouldn't sleep all day. So all day Thursday I was so tired I just wanted to go back to sleep. But I started writing. And writing. And writing.

Now here it is, almost 6:00 in the morning and I'm just now getting ready to go to sleep. I just finished chapter 25 with over 90,000 words.

Yep, there's definitely something wrong with me. I'm obsessed.

If I get it all down on paper it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to.

This is why that's my favorite part of that song.

I had a hurdle I needed to cross, though. I had decided that I was going to suddenly skip ahead in the book so that more time would have gone by. Since I was writing it day by day, and I was about to skip a few months, I figured that would be a good stopping point. Especially since we'll be busy moving this weekend and I won't have much time to write. So I finally got everything written that I wanted to happen before I jumped ahead.

And then I realized, the problem with a good stopping point is that it's a good STOPPING point. I was so nervous about writing that first chapter after the break and making it all flow alright. I was worried about summing up everything that had happened without breaking the flow of the book. And because I was so worried about it, I realized I could very easily just stop writing and never finish the book. I've come too far now to not finish it. So when I got to my stopping point, I kept going. I had to write that one chapter just to make sure I wasn't turning a PAUSING point into an actual STOPPING point.

And now that I've rambled on and on making no sense, I'm going to sleep.