WooooHooooo

I did it, people. I finished the food essay and submitted it. (Deep cleansing breath)

Even after I had everything together, the files proofread for the thousandth time, my bio updated and all, I sat staring at the screen for five minutes before I hit send.

Here's the thing: the fate of the world does not depend on whether they like this piece or publish it. If they don't, it will become one of the Nos I have to go through to get to Yes. It will be the first of the rejections my friend Tom suggests I use to paper my walls.

When I wrote about finding the middle of the piece the other day, I didn't mean to imply it was fabulous. What I was trying to say—and what I'm celebrating now—is that I pushed through the middle, the part where I usually get stalled. I relaxed and let myself write some bad crap until what I wanted to say found me.

I finished. I submitted. My piece is now out there on the elementary school playground in its pajamas. With no panties underneath. And a crucial button missing. It's scary, but it's the only way to get my "real" writing out into the world.

Stay tuned. I may get the hang of this finishing thing yet.