How Can I Explain This Feeling?

First Manuscript

My heart is racing, yet my body is calm.  I feel this inner excitement like somewhere inside I'm doing cartwheels and simultaneously I feel grounded and focused.

One voice is saying, "Way to go!  Look what you accomplished.  I knew you could do it." Another is saying, "Now, here is what must happen next if you really want to do this.  It's going to take a lot of work."  Both voices come from somewhere deep inside me.  I listen to both.

What is it that has me feeling this way?

I just printed my first novel.  Please humor me as I say that again.  I just printed my first novel.

A plain manuscript, three hole punched and inserted in a binder.  A mere 64 pages, double spaced.  Nowhere near long enough to be considered a novel.  At 15,328 words, it needs to more than double in length to work as a middle grade novel, which is what I am aiming for. It's crap, really.  Utter first time novel writer, first draft drivel.

It starts out with feeling, then quickly becomes robotic (and then this happened and then that happened and then she said something).

Mind you, I say that with the utmost love because it's something.  It's a start.  It has potential.  With some time and some work and some love, it will become something better than it is now.

The point is, a story is there.  A beginning, a middle, an end.  And I wrote it.  I wrote the story that was in my head, the story that came to me in the shower one day.  I wrote it beginning to end.

And now it's printed.  It's no longer just a blip on my screen that disappears when I walk away from my computer.  It's sitting there in front of me on paper in a binder awaiting the love I promised to give it.

Somehow now it's real.


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