If you asked me to describe the week that went by in a single word, I would say, ‘awesome’. But then, I use that word a little more often than oft needed. So, there’s that.

But the week that went by, was pure joy for me, or rather, more precisely the weekend. That was when, after all, I finally managed to finish the first draft of the little something I had been working on since the past couple of years at the very least. When I think of it now, I feel, not that many good things about it, but it’s the first draft, and the reasons first draft exist are to make you feel crappy as a writer, and a proud one as a person.

How did it feel then?

It felt great!

That “THE END” stapled on the last page of the document was like gold. The fifty five thousand words finally seemed to make sense. The hard work, of the weeks, and months before, finally made sense. The end, of the story, made the journey worthwhile. I know that sort of goes against of how I view the rest of the things in my life. I mean, I’m a guy who loves the hiking, and hates the summit, for there is little to do after reaching the summit. Okay, wrong example, I love the summit too. But you get the zest, I think. I love journeys. I love journeys far more than the endpoints destinations are. And so, here, when I finished the draft, the elation that I felt, was let’s just say paradoxical because I had hated the journey. I had hated the times I’d had to make myself sit on that chair. I had hated having to drag my feet through shitty chapters, and times. I had hated all of that.

I think, the elation had more to do with the fact, that I was able to see the story as a whole. As what it was. For, before I had written the end, there had been multiple arcs, multiple possibilities, and infinite stories. But once I had reached the end, I knew the fate of my characters.

Reaching the end, was not easy.

I remember not being sure where this was going, a couple of days before I got there. But things sometimes just click together, beautifully, and in those moments, you can not type fast enough. You can not put the things on paper fast enough. You are afraid to lose the thought, and so you keep repeating it in your head. I did all of that.

I remember not being able to sleep the night I finished the first draft. I could not sleep. I was laughing, madly, looking at nothing but darkness spread over me, in the void, and just laughing.

I had no idea it would feel this great.

And now, I have tasted the blood.