So, a few days ago, I dotted the final ‘i’s, crossed the last ‘t’s and added a concluding full stop. After six years of writing and re-writing (and several years before that of procrastinating and planning), the first draft of my first novel is completed. Untitled, but complete. Done, Fini, Finito, well – until a rewrite. The file is saved and is with my writing mentor.

He left the temple and moved back onto the Street of Souls. The night had started to become foggy and gave the darkness and appropriate eeriness. Tomorrow was Sanda Sweven, the Feast day of the Dead, reputedly when the ghosts of those who were passed away revisited the mortal plane to commune with families and descendants. He looked up and down the wide street and concluded that he was the only soul out in the city that night. As the tall spires and domes of the temples loomed out of the mist, his mind conjured up a disturbing thought – maybe he was the only living soul out that night but maybe there were other souls abroad. Now when he looked down the wide boulevard ahead, the Street of Souls seemed less deserted. The candles and beacons that would normally illuminate the way for the pious and nervous to prayers and absolution now lit the way for the souls of the dead to dance again. Figures seemed to swirl in the mist and shadows, merging together then breaking apart in a macabre dance of death.

It may have been his mind, almost delirious with the cold and hunger, or just years of solitude and despair on the dangerous and dirty streets of Jacarna, but to Gudnar the spirits really were there – and they wanted him. He squealed with fear, his old legs shaking more now, but not just from the icy wind and he ran – ran as fast as he could down the long temple highway.

I say planning but that might be a slight exaggeration. The story started in my head long before I put pen to paper. I did no formal planning – which did not help at all. It came to a point where the story needed to be written down, and so I started. As each page progressed, the story evolved and changed. Some characters cast aside only to be given another chance.

She watched in amazement as the flame on the brand crackled with renewed energy, and the whole thing burst into flame, engulfing first the arm of the creature and then its body. Bex struggled to free herself from the grip of the creature as the flames raced down the other arm towards where the creature held her fast. She looked on, face aghast, as her wrist and forearm blistered and ignited. She screamed, unable to escape the blaze.

The two guards stopped dead in their tracks as they saw her now completely engulfed in flames. She could hear Yab screaming and laughing and calling for more guards. The pain that the arrow had brought her was nothing to the searing agony of the fire. For a few seconds she was conflagrant with the creature and they locked eyes together. The creature smiled, her eyes were balls of fire and flames danced upon her head in a mockery of human hair. She now looked like a human chiselled from living fire, her skin patterned with movement like molten lava flowing from the earth, as she sat phoenix like surround by the licking flames.

And then, abruptly, the pain stopped, and she felt cold. The creature had disappeared, the floor of the cage scorched black from the heat and now she seemed odd. Her whole body ached, as if she was being crushed. Her skin was now red, and flames still writhed over her skin, yet she felt nothing from them.

I learnt the writer’s curse well. Some days, the words came easy, others not at all. Work took its toll and words dried up, for a week at first, then a month and then longer. Salvation came in the guise of a writing group. My long-suffering partner, anxious to read the finished story – and not just endless rewrites of chapters 1 to 5 – enrolled me into a ‘Novel in a Year’ group. This was a godsend, giving me the impetus, the big kick up the proverbial, and some advice, tips and training to get to the end.

At the crest of a nearby hill, Bex was met with a wondrous sight. They stood above a canyon carved from the land below, formed by a steep cliff on the side they stood. To one side the valley ran away into the distance. To the other, the cliffs from either side met to form a basin. Cascading from that were numerous cataracts of molten magma, pouring down into a lake of liquid fire below. The lake fed a river flowing away through the canyon. A river of molten rock.

As if the sight was not impressive enough, the opposite face of the canyon was terraced. Carved into the walls of the terraces were ornate buildings that seemed glazed and polished. As the rays of the huge sun hit them, they flashed and radiated in a brilliant multitude of colours.

Ishtara said one word and Bex noticed a feeling of elation and happiness in her voice, though tinged with a hint of regret.

“Home.”

But, what do I feel now; Excited and exhausted – this has been an extremely busy period at work and I have still managed to add a good 50,000 words, tidy up the rest and add bits in so it makes sense. I’m also relieved to get it finished. It has been a long time coming! Obviously, there is a long, long way to go before it is properly completed, but getting that first draft completed really helps.

Exhilarated, yet anxious, to find out how the characters and story are accepted, not just by family and my peers, but by the reading public. Anyone who knows me would be well aware that my superhero alter ego would be Introvert Man, with that great superpower of social awkwardness, so even contemplating these next steps is a great leap forward for me.

And finally, trepidation. Trepidation, in that this is only part 1 and the story needs to continue. I worry about that, and hope that I can do Bex and the other protagonists justice in telling the next part.

But first, a bit of a break. Although, without reading it, I am still thinking of tweaks or words and phrases I need to check. The list is growing, but I am still happy!