Sun

I've been thinking about my book, Sun, a lot recently and it occurred to me that this May it will have been three years since I started this endeavor.  In a way, it seems like a long time - nearly three years.  I started this book two days after I turned sixteen and already I am close to being nineteen.  And yet I don't think I ever dreamed at the beginning that I would have reached the point I have already.  I never thought that in less than three years I would be able to say that I had written 254 pages in this book - in any book, for that matter.  I never thought I would finish anything aside from short stories, and although I still have not yet, I am closer than I ever have been before.  Although I have been distracted from my writing at times, this is the first book I have ever spent so much time on and I intend to finish it at last some day.

Sometimes I wish so much to finish it; in fact, I wish that often.  But there is a paradox within me concerning this.  For though I desperately want to finish what I have worked on for so long, at the same time, it makes me incredibly sad to think of the day on which I no longer will be able to write in my book.  I also wonder what I shall do after it is done.  I suppose I shall find something else to write.  I will have to, I am certain.  For I don't think I would be able to live without writing something.  But I can imagine that even if I start another book, or even if I just begin concentrating more on another that I have already started, that I will feel terribly lost without my book to write in and my characters to write about.  It's what familiar to me and I know I will miss it.  But even still, I try as hard as I can to finish it as soon as possible, because it also drives me crazy that there is no end to my story yet.  But someday there will be.  I am sure of it.