In my house, on a special shelf, is a Lego pirate ship and a copic marker painting I did of Shackleton's Endurance.
One year we got one big Lego set for the entire family to build on Christmas day. Sweet hu?
Everyday I look at the Endurance picture and go, "Whoa! History is so cool! They were such badasses. Antarctica ice ships dogs...etc."
At the same time I look at the Lego pirate ship and go, "Whoa! Metal beard! Pirates! High seas Adventure! Awesome! LEGO!... etc."
They only have two similarities: they are both ships, and they both represent something epic.
How much of history is romanticized? It can be the same kind of joy you get from a toy; you get from it what your imagination puts into it.
"History is boring," says the kid who wanted to go home and play, not realizing stories of ships and seas ultimately lead to the creation of Metal Beard and the Sea Cow.
In my house, they're the same. Both ships, and both epic.
Seems like forever ago, but last month I finally put the last red scribbles to paper and sent The Chime off to my editor.
There's that moment of celebration, the HUZZAH I FINISHED A BOOK! But it's all to quickly filled with sadness, because you won't ever get to work on that particular story like that ever again.
I'd imagine some would say it's like watching your kids go off to college, but that's not it.
I think sending off your final draft to an editor is most like watching your dog go to the bathroom in the backyard on his own for the first time, knowing there may be mistakes to clean up in the future, but the big hurdle of getting him out of the door is done.
There is still shit to do, but it is very close now.
Stay tuned for pre-order details! I'm going to do a few things differently and I've very excited.