Last night I finished another revision of Thrown, my novel. This should be an exciting time. A time to celebrate and brag. But this is my third trip through the novel writing process and I've learned enough to know the end is still a long way off.
Remember the long distance running scene in the movie Forrest Gump? He ran from his home in Alabama all the way to the ocean. When he got there, he turned around and kept going. When he ran to the other ocean he turned around again and kept going.
The first revision is my initial run to the Pacific Ocean. It's a nice place to be, but I know I'm going to turn around and keep going. The second draft is the run to the Atlantic. I'm usually in better shape and it goes faster. I pause to breath in the salty air before turning around. Again.
And I don't know when or where the journey will end.
In total, Forrest ran for 3 years, 2 months, 14 days and 16 hours. When he finished he turned to his followers and said, "I'm pretty tired... I think I'll go home now."
So far, Thrown has taken me six months and twenty-nine days. And while I'm pretty tired, it's not time to go home. I'm heading back to the sandy beaches of the Pacific (or is it the Atlantic?).