I’m calling it. I’m done. The novel-length version of The View from the Thirteenth Floor is done. Aside from the work that needs to be done when I tidy it up, this sucker is done.
I wrapped things up at around 8pm last night, and then I burst into tears. It’s not like I poured my heart and soul into this. It’s not like it’s a deep, revealing look at the human psyche. It’s not like I was writing and re-writing it for years. The reason I released the story as a free read was because I was 100% convinced that there was no more story than those few pages. I tried to spin the story this way and that for years, but nothing ever worked.
But now there we have it, a whole novel, and the sense of accomplishment was what punched me in the face and made me bawl last night.
I have a history of not finishing things, but with this I decided to just hold my breath and stay the fuck under until I came out with something, and boy did I come out with something.
I know you’re supposed to do acknowledgments *after* a book has a home, but I’ve just got to say to the people who read the short and said they wanted to read more: you guys are fucking awesome. There is no way I would have knocked this one out if you hadn’t commented that it was too short.
Now, a bit of rest, and then whipping this bitch into shape and figuring out what to do with it.