Three hundred and ninety-six pages later I finished my novel. At least, I think I did.

It is strange, but as I typed the final words, I did not experience the sense of accomplishment or even release I thought would come. Instead, I was immediately overwhelmed by the thought that this story is truly only a first draft. At the very least, I need to go back to the beginning and plow through a colossal edit job. And...I must admit that I wonder about the ending. Will it work for the reader?

I wonder because I had to fight through the urge to hasten Megan's story. So much of her life bothered me. What she felt was a bit too real a times. And as she worked through things that still hover about my heart I found myself reluctant to rest my fingertips upon the keyboard. However, I have said before and I will say again now that perhaps this story was only ever meant to be for just one person. Me.

In any case, the deed is done.