You are at the starting line. Hands poised on the keyboard … and you are away. Writing the marathon seems like the bulk of the work and then you arrive at The End, but you are only at the halfway point. The editing process is your rest station where you try to replenish those depleted ideas and ‘should haves’ included in the plot line, only to find that once you resume the race, more needs to be pulled from the body of work than added.
You try to breathe life into every moment and character as you round the kerb. Along the way there are numerous bumps and scrapes that halt the actuality of the finish line. Cover design, blurbs, synopsis, tissues for the tears and a good social media platform of other, like marathon writers to help with the despair. As you near the tape pulled taught between two beings you know too well you look on with trepidation. You know who they are as you wince. Fear and Doubt. They cause you to slow to a jog but you vow to push them aside once you arrive. By now, all the tiny stones scattered across the path are making you stumble.
You have no idea what actually keeps you on the correct road, but the sheer will that drives you forth is held within the countless hours you trained for this particular race. Then you see something familiar at the finish line. It has your name splashed across it, as you crawl toward the tape, put your hand up and grasp the solid wad of pages, hold it aloft and say, ‘The next one will be about …’