The End of the Beginning

When my editor finished highlighting the oversights I’d missed in Book One, I found myself renewed in my task of telling this story in its best possible way.

So, I set to refining those last details of my piece.

It was the first time I really felt like an artist.

I’d been told this craft of writing is art. I consider other writers artists, but I never brought the title to bear on myself. Through the time of turning a slew of crappy words thrown together into a coherent story, I’d never thought I was making art. But in these final steps, there were fleeting moments that I was.

In these moments, I was proud of what I was doing 🙂 Proud of what I’d done.

Chiseling away to bring forth the final details that would make this piece better than it was, I was a sculptor of words. I saw the art. I saw that art wasn’t some mystical ambrosia that spawned inside some and not others. It was blood and hurt and patience and perseverance. It was showing up every day. It was practicing a craft until I was good at it. It was practicing more until I was better.

Like a giant hurdle has been vaulted, I’m even more committed and excited to continue this journey. I feel like the beginning has ended. I’m confident to move into the sophomoric stage of this journey, where I hope to learn and grow by leaps and bounds.

• Tell me about the learning curve in your art
• What eureka moments have you had that kept you moving forward?