So for those who may not know, for the last five years, I’ve been working on my first book, a YA fantasy novel (with a name I will soon be releasing.) However, even though I’ve had the world prepared, a whole magic system cooked up and hidden away, and even though I feel like I know the characters like I know the back of my own hand, something was off: I didn’t want it to end.

I’ve been struggling with ripping off the bandage. After all, as soon as I finish the damn story, I actually have to start doing something with it. I need to send it off to agents, and then to publishers, and then hope and pray that someone actually thinks it’s worth reading, and not only worth reading, but worth the money to print and try to sell. Now that I’m working in a bookstore and starting to better understand that side of the industry, I see exactly how much goes into getting every indivdual word not just on a page, but on shelf– and, not just on a shelf, but into a reader’s hands.

But, now, I actually have to do it, because as of last week, my university has accepted my dissertation proposal: an in-depth study of how the first book in young adult fantasy trilogies end and why, and how they function as a conduit into the rest of a series. It’s a mouthful, I know, and still a little vague, but I have a real advisor and everything, someone I’m very excited to work with (but who I know for a FACT is going to hold me accountable.)

And, so, I will be finishing my first book by September. The whole thing. With special attention to the end, to satisfy the requirements of my specific dissertation project, but still. It’s time to slay the dragon, and I am so very afraid. But if I don’t do it, then this whole thing will be basically pointless, and also I think that my very sweet and patient girlfriend will kill me for being so evasive about what I’m working on.

So, here we are: the countdown to the end. Buckle up. I think it’s going to go faster than I want.