As I narrow down edits, I read my words in two bi-polar ways:

1. I like this!
2. This is lacking something!

I wonder if I’ll get a eureka moment. That little pulse of energy that sparkles through my veins and indicates:

Yes this is truly done. 100%

As I sift through my story, I second guess everything. It doesn’t help that some of my most favorite lines were add-ons, and never existed until I pushed my imagination until it bled colorful prose. I worry that there is something else I can add to make it better. A little umph to push it from okay to good. Maybe push it towards awesome? I can only hope.

I am currently waiting for my editor to reread and send a finalized copy. During this time, patience is a virtue that I don’t have. I find myself seeing angel wings in the soapy suds as I watch dishes. While driving, I take note of the way that the clouds move across the sky. While listening to someone speak I hone in on the way they string words together in conversation, one by one, as if they are stringing pearls on a necklace. I think to certain parts of my book and wonder if I need more. Or less. Or something completely different. It’s consuming…It’s a stroke of madness.

Will my insanity allow myself to ever publish? I have a promotion strategy all set up, I have my account ready for the final copy, and I have a few family and friends who are waiting to see what I made. It’s like being on a stage with a diary and everyone is waiting for me to read it out loud. My friends and family sit patiently, in velvety red seats, waiting for their brains to absorb and words that I wrote. They wait, expecting a journey, not knowing if it’ll be good or bad. On my stage, I’m still furiously erasing words with a pink eraser and scribbling new dialogue, with words that contain, hopefully, a bit more pizzazz.

Will it ever be good enough to impress my greatest critic, which is myself? Will I ever do a final read through and think:

Yes this is truly done. 100%

I’m leaning towards a big, fat, bold NO! It’ll never be good enough for myself. There is always something I can add or subtract to make it better. I could probably write this book for the rest of my life and I’ll never be quite satisfied. I just need to hold on to the quiet voice of logic, somewhere in the back of my mind. It’s a squeaky voice that says when Cadence: Secrets of Wings, returns from final edits, I need to publish it.

I need to stand on stage and read it out loud, and set the words free from their prison cell. It is only then that I can move on from it. I can write another Cadence book, or take a long, much deserved break from writing and editing. I can do some of my other hobbies, like crafts, or allow myself to get fully sucked into a TV series or book series. I can leave the book on that stage, and walk away. If they throw roses or tomatos, or even leave half way through, it won’t matter anymore.

Yes. I will be allowed to do what I wished for when I wrote the first sentence….FINISH IT.