Today I finished the first draft of my first book and sent it to a handful of friends for their feedback.
After I sent the emails, I had one thought: I’ve done it – and for the rest of my life, I will always have done it – I have finally written a book.
It doesn’t matter to me that my book doesn’t have a title yet, or that it’s not particularly long, or even that the writing isn’t particularly brilliant. I know that I’ve repeated certain phrases, leaned heavily on certain words, focused too little on some areas, and focused too much on some others.
My book is a long way from being perfect. But you know what? It exists, and perfection doesn’t.