Four months into my Ephemeris journey, and the strangest thing has happened: I find myself grieving characters no one else knows. Debating fictional politics no one has voted on. Losing sleep over plot decisions no one is even aware of.
And in that isolation, I’ve discovered a truth no one warns you about when you set out to write a novel: there is a profound loneliness in loving a story before anyone else has the chance to.
There’s something profoundly surreal about the stage I’m in with Ephemeris.
It’s not done…not really. Every day, new beta reader comments roll in, each one a gift wrapped in constructive criticism. My characters are still evolving. Dialogue is being sharpened. Scenes are getting gutted or expanded. Entire chapters are packing their bags and moving. And yet, somehow, I’m already promoting it.
Finishing a draft is not the same as finishing a book. I know that. There’s editing, rewriting, tightening, polishing…all the actual hard work that transforms a raw story into something ready for readers. But there’s nothing quite like the moment you type that last sentence of your first draft.