The entire process of typing up several drafts, becoming completely paralyzed by writer’s block, tying up loose ends of the plot, and laughing, crying, and stumbling with my characters made me realize what an intense undertaking writing a novel was.
There were times when I felt overwhelmed by the idealistic visions I had for this book in my mind, my perfectionist tendencies shading every effort to give life to the story, and I would be tempted to stop writing, editing, and proofreading my work. But I persevered, and two years later, I’m glad I did, because if I hadn’t continued, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a published author.