The Silence That Meant Growth

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post.

Not that long ago, a break like this would’ve meant one thing— that I’d fallen off the horse again.

Whenever I disappeared from a project, people around me usually took it as a sign that my latest adventure had run its course. I’d either end up making an awkward video explaining why it “just wasn’t for me,” or I’d go silent and never bring it up again. And if I went silent, well, that was the unspoken signal: I’d given up.

That’s how it used to be.

But this time? This silence meant something entirely different. This time, the quiet was productive. It was intentional. It was me doing the work I’ve always dreamed of finishing.

I had tight deadlines for Comatose—four months to write two drafts and prepare Beta Reader copies by September 22nd. I didn’t meet that first deadline. And at first, I panicked. Every time I’ve missed a deadline in the past, I’ve lost momentum. But this time, I pushed it to October 10th and decided that instead of seeing it as failure, I’d see it as flexibility.

Because Comatose deserved that.

This month brings a massive edit that several incredible people rearranged their schedules to help me with. On top of that, I was invited to do an author event next spring—at the very same coffee shop where Comatose was born.

So I went quiet. 

Not because I quit.

Because I was finishing.

And last week, while sitting at my condo on the coast, I typed the final words of the second draft. The version that will become my final draft.

The moment I finished, I cried. Not  because I was sad. But because my manuscript survived me. It survived my ADHD, my chaos, and my constant tendency to take on too much. It made it through every late night, every rewrite, every doubt.

It survived me— which means it can survive anything.