So the deed is done.
I have finished NaNoWriMo with a 114.000 word first draft.
And I'm emotionally exhausted.
I cried myself through the last three chapters,
blindly groping along my living-room in search for soul food and
stuffed chocolate-chip-cookies into me until I could see the screen again.
I have killed.
I killed a sweet innocent child
and sent my main characters on an emotional roller-coaster.
I suffered vicariously with them.
And I shall spend the next couple of days as their personal
therapist to tackle the PTS symptoms they suffer from tonight.
But tonight we try to relax.
My sofa is occupied by a score of sniffling and red-eyed characters.
Some wear a decidedly accusing expression.
But it had to be for the greater good.
But there's a huge tissue-box on the table, next to the chocolate bar.
We share that one.
And tomorrow we take a break and talk.
And eventually we will revisit events - a lot.
But one day we will move on.
They'll be just more wary then, not as confident as before.
I don't think they believed I had the power to kill in me.
Neither did I.
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