I sat on my second-hand couch, windows open to the sounds of San Diego Bay, a beer in hand and hit the final period. My Macbook was humming and I was blinking at the cursor in time.
There I was, 9 months pregnant with a story. It was my idea, my tale. The embodiment of my own make-believe scenario that, in a funny twist had actually reflected the reality some of my close friend's called their life.
I emailed my favorite teacher from High School and asked if it were permissible to use his name and likeness in the book. His response was a very comedic and supportive, "yes." I emailed the guy who was going to help me publish the book and build a website. What I thought was done was actually far from it. It was only the beginning.
The manuscript was six pages and 1600 words and had a few punctuational errors, like it's mother. I had given birth. No amount of support from my friends, encouragement from my publisher or online research could have prepared me for the sleepless nights, midnight feedings and love this project was about to require in order to sustain life.
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