‘Just finish it already’.

That was the best piece of advice I got for my novel, and this weekend I managed to finish it and now I’m bummed out that I won’t be able to feed that back to the person who provided me with such a sound turn of phrase.

I don’t know if you read my blog often but you may have noticed that I don’t write at weekends, the reason for this is that for the last nine months I have spent my weekends writing my first novel. I’ve always had massive issues with finishing anything off, I’ll make all these grand plans and schemes but when it comes down to it I can never reach a conclusion, and it was only ever down to me. There was nobody stopping me but myself. I’ve cleared that aside in the last year and started work on a story about one of the highlights of my 25 years, University. It dawned on me that all I’ve ever wanted to do was write, it’s been in me since I learnt to read and got wrapped up in Lewis, Tolkein and Blyton as a child, I’m not comparing myself in any way, just outlining the kinds of brilliance that initially coaxed me into what I now call my chosen vocation. I’ve had dalliances with other bits and pieces but the core of it has always been a love of writing and completing my first novel feels like the longest first step ever, I want to continue with this for as long as I can. It’s the reason I don’t want to go ice skating – for fear of losing my fingers under some sucker’s blades. I just wanted to share my joy at having finally finished it already.

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