You gotta read this article in the Huffington Post by Glennon Melton. It’s humorous, and it’s about not getting stressed out that sometimes kids are too much of a pain in the ass to be enjoyed, but there’s a line about writing that pulls it together nicely. This was it: There was a famous writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, “No. but I love having written.”

I don’t know who said this, but I so get it. On both the writing side and the the parenting side. I do not enjoy Nugget’s 3 A.M. wake up call, and sometimes I do not enjoy writing. Writing is hard. Really, really hard. To do it right––to bring together all the components needed to make whole book work––is VERY hard. Like any activity, it gets easier the more you do it, but sometimes it’s pure labor.

Like now. I’m slogging through my edits. Some of the notes I made in the margins of my manuscript are as discernible as primordial cave art. I’m not enjoying it. But there’s nothing I’d rather be doing.

I start this here…

…with the end of the edits for this book. The Silent Sister is finished. Unless someone wants to buy it, in which case I’ll joyously revise it again, but for now, it’s the end of the line. I revised it. I edited it on paper with a red pen. I examined every word of every sentence, and even after six drafts, there’s red on every single page.

Now, during this time, I had my baby. My darling little girl. For a few months, I didn’t do anything with my book. No sleep = no writing. But eventually, a new normal emerged. Nugget began sleeping through the night (mostly), and I went back to revising and editing.

And I completed them. So here I am. A new mother with a finished manuscript I’m really proud of, hoping to have a book I’m really proud of.