Yesterday was a happy day, and let me tell you why. It was Sunday. I woke before the birds to work on my book, hyper-focused in my wordsmith’s workshop at my wooden red desk, defining and redefining the final words of the final paragraphs of the final chapter of Mile 445.
I was almost there, but took a break shortly after the sunrise to go to church with Caleb. I almost skipped. Good thing I didn’t. Because church summons the Source who gives my work meaning, who gives me my work at all.
Children sang in the choir as a holy light stripped through the windows within the brick. Radiant life filled the old, little building. It was a joyful life, a stirring life, the life I’ve endeavored to reveal in my book.
Fed with a powerful fury not my own, I returned to my desk after the service. The words spilled out of me. Within hours, my book that began with my PCT journey one year ago was finished.
Well, the first completed draft anyways. Now I will give a final read-through before placing it in the hands of my editors. This process will take several weeks. In the meantime, designers will work on a cover to capture the essence of this tale. If all goes as planned, the book will be released this summer.
Friends, I want to thank you for reading along and offering unceasing support. Writing, like all art, is a business that exposes the person it employs. It can be frightening: I find it easy to second-guess what I’m “putting down.” But, even when the sharp clutches of doubt sweep me up, someone always seems to appear to let me know I’m on track.
That comradeship has made all the difference, has fueled and refueled me in my task.