I’ll be pissed. But I’ll also be satisfied. Because I crossed “writing a novel” off my bucket list. Four times. Plus a bunch of short stories and other forms of fiction from flash to serial. I know how hard it is to do something many people talk about but few actually achieve. I know the feeling of hitting the wall and fighting the urge to raise the white flag halfway through. And I know what it takes to finish. Not only that, but I got a chance to say what I wanted to say the way I wanted to say it. Which means I’ll leave little pieces of me (not literally, I hope) in the pages of these wondrous things called books. And that’s something.