I picked up a novel late last week.
What was I thinking? I should have taken the Christmas tree down, first.
But the tree is still up, and the novel is done.
The words will not let me go.
I had to finish it, I just had to. I knew I would never write again until it was done. I was not sure I would even sleep, but I did, somehow.
I even caught myself praying for my new friends, I mean, the characters of the book. Then I reminded
myself they were not real, and backed out of God's throne room with a red face. (Don't you hate when that happens?)
And I picked up the book again.
I will never write a book this amazing, I thought, but I didn't waste any time in self-pity. The story was just too good. I let it consume me, and I delighted in the art, in the words.
And still, the words will not let me go.
Read about this amazing book here.
Read the rest of my review on goodreads, if you like (spoiler alert)
What was I thinking? I should have taken the Christmas tree down, first.
But the tree is still up, and the novel is done.
The words will not let me go.I had to finish it, I just had to. I knew I would never write again until it was done. I was not sure I would even sleep, but I did, somehow.
I even caught myself praying for my new friends, I mean, the characters of the book. Then I reminded
myself they were not real, and backed out of God's throne room with a red face. (Don't you hate when that happens?)
And I picked up the book again.
I will never write a book this amazing, I thought, but I didn't waste any time in self-pity. The story was just too good. I let it consume me, and I delighted in the art, in the words.
And still, the words will not let me go.
Read about this amazing book here.
Read the rest of my review on goodreads, if you like (spoiler alert)