Done aaaaaaand… Done.

I have, so far, done my best to avoid talking much about my own writing. After all, what’s the point of being so self-indulgent, especially when I don’t actually have anything published which I can shamelessly shill? Nonetheless, the feeling of a weight off the shoulders is incredible right now, as I just finished editing my first attempt at a novel, and can now begin the also-difficult process of shopping the damn thing around to agents.

Nothing to plug to the general populace yet, but I do certainly hope that a swashbuckling historical adventure type of a book will find some sort of audience (naturally, that’s the type that I’ve written). We shall see, I suppose. I still feel relieved. Editing one’s own work can be one of the least fun parts of the creative process, what with reading the same words again and again until they lose all appeal, and quibbling over a comma here or there. Phew.

(And no, I would not presume to compare myself to Dumas, I just like the above picture.)