The Other Side

A little over a week ago I finished my manuscript and sent it out.

Since then, I’ve been on hiatus.

What’s striking is how far away that version of me feels.

Reading through the book now, I can recall the cartography of it. But it feels like watching a documentary of something I once lived inside.

I think this is common. And if I’m honest, it’s happened before.

These in-between times are hard. You want to believe the thing exists in the same universe as your current self, but you wonder if you slipped into another dimension where you only hear the echoes of some other inaccessible you doing those things.