So we're done.

You learn a lot of things from writing a book. Sometimes you learn something important about the craft, such as how to write certain points of view or how to effectively manage external conflict around internal struggle in such a way that both resolve in a satisfying manner (spoiler alert: I have no idea how to do that yet). Sometimes you learn something about yourself. I can't attest to have taken too many personal lessons from this one, in particular, but I can say I feel like with every chapter I wrote, be it an incredible one or a terrible one, I felt like this story needed more out of me than I was able to give at the time.

That doesn't mean I'm dissatisfied with it, but I just remember having ideas throughout the novel I was already too late to execute on, and thinking, damn, I want to come back to that. I want more lore. I want more on the societal bias, because these kids are so insulated it hardly comes across. I want to develop the hell out of everyone involved in the book, because I love them. I want to flesh out all their otherworlds, too. This one's thick, and I'll probably be coming back to it again and again for years.

I think that's a success of its own kind.

I think this was one of the first novels I wrote entirely under the shadow of late posting, too. The time between writing a chapter and publishing it gives me some time to edit it and introspect, but it also softens the blow when inevitably, I receive no feedback whatsoever, so I guess it helps with the deafening silence. 

Regardless, like the characters, this novel is in a sense in transition, between the death of old ways of doing things and old ways of writing and how I felt about myself as a writer, and something new coming up from the ashes. There's a lot to miss, a lot that's happened, but also, hopefully, a lot to look forwards to. 

Thanks.