I feel liberated. Released. Like I’ve been locked up in a building and now the doors have been opened and I can go anywhere.

Yeah. Finished the first draft of another novel.

I also feel humbled and happy. Satisfied.

I struggled with finishing. Kept running into a wall with where those final chapters would go. I had to reach the odd realization and understanding that the character is not me. The character had much more to give, more to use. They understood things that I did not. I just had to let go and accept that. Once that finally took place, the ending fell into place, and here we are.

Now it must be edited, revised, etc. But the storyteller is free to start another tale. Almost as if signaled, I saw something and a new adventure began taking shape.

As it’s always been.