It's a draft. Not a wrap, not a done thing, not even a draft with full inclusion of all scenes, since I need to add two or three scenes featuring my vaguest, and therefore in-for-a-rewrite character. It also calls for a sequel.
But it's a first draft, a novel with a beginning, a middle, and an end, standing at 101.500 words.
Insert: Fireworks. Fluffy Bunnies. Also sprach Zarathustra. Pictures of pilgrims coming to the end of El Camino. Chocolate. Dancing of the funky-flamenco-disco on top of Mount Everest.
It's only a draft, I know. The real work begins now, they say. But this is the first time in seven years I've finished a novel draft, and it feels exhilarating.
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