I have rewritten the rewrite of this rewritten novel so many times, I believe I may never need to write a new book again. I shall just rewrite the rewritten rewrite!
You’re a writer. You know how it goes. There comes that moment, when, way down there in your writerly guts, you know there is nothing more to say.
Here’s a little passage from the book:
“There is nothing more to be said,” the princess stated coldly.
Auric stared at the princess, his mouth hanging open in surprise, his fists working in frustration, his eyes meeting her cold, determined, green-eyed stare in disbelief and anger.
“Nothing more to say,” she said firmly.
“No, I imagine that there is not,” Auric replied haughtily. “When you change your mind, I am quite certain that you know where you may find me.”
It’s done, my writer friend. The rewrite of the rewritten rewrite of my current novel. D-O-N-E, finito.
And this done is done. You know, the one that’s finished as in there is no more to write. No words to say. It’s all out. We laugh, we cry, but we finish.
And, well, there it is.
Now it’s off to my readers, as a thanks-and-see-how-your-input-matters sort of a deal, and then off in search of an agent.
Oh, sit down, I must, for surely this is exciting, isn’t it?
Truly?
John D Reinhart 