“The End” Isn’t the End

There’s something surreal about typing The End. You’d think it would feel like a finish line—some fireworks, maybe a cosmic fist bump from the universe. But when I reached the end of this latest draft of Iteration, what I really felt was quiet. Not relief, exactly. Not pride. Just... a pause. Like my brain was waiting to be sure it was really done before exhaling.

Maybe it’s because this draft carried more weight than the ones before. I’ve rewritten these chapters through beach sunrises, late-night flights, and moments when life felt louder than the story. I’ve questioned every choice, every character, every heartbeat of the plot. And still, Ana’s face kept surfacing—this broken, resilient girl who refused to let go. She was never supposed to survive. But somehow, like this story, she did.

I’ve shared bits of that journey here on Instagram—quotes from strange 2 a.m. writing epiphanies, dogs stealing bacon, awkward moments of creative chaos. Real life doesn’t stop just because you’re rewriting a book about mind-erasing implants and global reckoning. Sometimes the most honest thing I can post is, “This is what my brain gives me when I ask for order: :-/”

And yet—here we are. One more draft behind me. One more step forward.

To those who’ve beta-read, cheered from the sidelines, or simply liked a post when I wasn’t sure I could finish—thank you. You are part of this.

Iteration is close now. Scary close. And I can’t wait to show you what comes next.