And Then We Went On Submission

Okay guys. I'm proud to announce that, as of yesterday, MIRRORPASS is finally ready for submission!

Cue the balloons and confetti!

Cue the cheering and squeeing!

Skimming my Google Analytics , I saw over half of you checked in on August 1st, my self-imposed deadline day, looking for news. Wow. Can I say how impressed and humbled I am, how much I appreciate that? It means a lot. I wish I could have announced the good news then, but despite working relentless 10-11 hour days, I simply didn't finish until last night. You guys deserve a gold star all the same.

Right now it still feels surreal, and while I'm waiting for everything to sink in, I'm finalizing my agent research and query personalization. While that's going on, I have some awesome things planned for the blog--including some fun posts, and an absolutely huge contest--but for now I want to leave you with three celebratory things.

Thing one: MIRRORPASS first line!

Once, a long time ago, Aria had dreamed the sky would catch her if she fell.

(But we all know it won't. Muahahah.)

Thing two: the number main song on my MIRRORPASS playlist, the one that really defined the mood and feel for me, and still gives me chills whenever I listen to it--

(For the rest of my MIRRORPASS playlist, you can check out the WIP page.)

Thing three: This old post. More than anything else, this captures how I feel right now--to have finally finished.  To have finally taken this next step.

It has been a long time, she thinks to herself, a long time. She flexes a moment. Runs a finger across those fresh, new voices. They have so much to say. So much for her to absorb...

Somehow it's just like she remembered. It's a world of voices and stories that make her skin tingle and fill her with passion. Its a group of people who are both dreamers and realists, artists and comedians. They take themselves seriously, and they know when to laugh at how silly they are. She loves them all. Craves this world.

The isolation was good for a while, even though the process often felt so futile and basic. And now that she stepped over that hurdle, reached that stage, she's almost surprised to find the dance is still going, girlishly awed that she gets to jump in.

She has a novel.

Finally.

And reaching down, she picks up those pages. Reaching up, she brushes back the errant bangs. She strikes an authorly pose--very artsy, off center, with gritty concrete walls in the background--and then laughs and lets it go and is herself again, just like all the other writers in the room.

"Shall we dance?" she whispers into the book.

It rifles with memories. And finally, they dance.



Truly and always,
-Creative A