Book Two: The Finish Line Approaches

In my teenage years I ran track.

(Actually, that statement is probably misleading.) Correction, I was on the track team for one year.Mercifully, it was only one year.

I was...horrible.

It was difficult to participate in a track meet, knowing--KNOWING--that I would be last or second-to-last in every event I ran.

The only bright spot, the only silver lining I could see was represented by that wonderful, painted stripe that stretched across the dark rubberized-asphalt pavement.
The Finish Line.
To many, that painted strip smiled in victory, to others, it smirked in defeat.But to me, the finish line represented neither. To me it represented RELIEF.
It signaled that it was over. Done. Completed.
You see, by the time I crossed that magical barrier, the cheering and the clapping for the victor and those who closely followed him had already long subsided. When I crossed the finish line, the only people who were watching with any sense of anticipation were the next group of fleet-footed jocks who were preparing to line up for their own shot at glory.
But I didn't care. The Finish Line meant that I was finished. I had completed a difficult lap. I wasn't racing against anyone else, I was competing against the worst foe that one could imagine. 
Myself.
And every finish line crossed was a chance to look that foe in the eye and smile.
As I reflect back to my inglorious days as a track athlete, I am suddenly ripped forward in time to see a hidden parallel to my current life as a writer. Running track was hard. Trudging out, day after day, lap after painful lap, struggling and gasping and panting and questioning the sanity of it all.
Hmmm...sounds a lot like writing.
There were days that I dreaded heading out to the practice field. As a writer, I hear the call of the page, I hear the cries of the characters waiting to be born and the wails of those who are begging to be matured and deepened. Sometimes the onus of that burden is dreadful. But not always. 
I am truly blessed to have a genuine love and passion for writing. Honestly, I never had any stirrings within my teenage years that I could describe as either love or passion when it came to running. But that disparity doesn't mar my current metaphor, rather it celebrates the differences while honoring the similarities.

Make no mistake, running is work, and so is writing. It takes consistent discipline, denial of self, and practice, practice, and then more practice. Professional track stars even modify their diet and regulate their intake of various foods and fluids to enhance their physique and performance. Along that same vein, a determined author has to monitor and select those precious literary nutrients that we expose ourselves to. Writing is reading, and to write one needs to read. And read. And read. And then read some more. The literary muscles that are strained and strengthened by reading are the same literary strands engaged in writing.
A runner also needs a coach.

A coach.

That irritatingly honest mentor that examines your effort, your form, and your patterns with an eye that knows no pity, yet with a heart that knows no malice. An athlete without a coach isn't free, he is a fool. A fool.
I used to be a fool, and perhaps in many ways I still cling to ideas of freedom in childish immaturity. But as a writer I have just begun to learn the value of a coach, a mentor...an EDITOR. It is an infuriating pleasure. The Editor uses the selfsame hand to shamefully slap as they do in a comforting hug. They are fire and ice, they are killers and saviors, they are our best friend while being our worst nightmare. They are wonderfully necessary evils, and they have our best interests in their own heart whilst they seem to mercilessly rip ours out.
But, as I round the last bend in this analogy, I again see that beautiful streak coming into view: the Finish Line. 
Moments after completing TRADECRAFT.Several days ago I finished a 317-page manuscript for TRADECRAFT: Book Two of the Back to Normal series. It was a pleasurable agony that absorbed six months of my life. It was a race to the finish. But now, I have delivered my baby with trembling hands into the willing hands of a group of Beta Readers.

Nearly 50% of this esteemed group have reported in, and these early results are beyond gratifying. It appears that the magic begun by Paradigm Rift continues to fascinate and intrigue. 
In not too many days, my book will cross the desk of my editor. With scalpel in one hand, and duct tape in another, she will hack and heal and hone without respect to my feelings yet with great respect to my work. It perhaps no small coincidence that a mentor lies at the heart of every tormentor.
Just a few more steps now, and the Finish Line that lies before will be a memory that lies behind. But alas! The double-edged sword of the completion of TRADECRAFT. This book only marks the midpoint of the series, with two tomes yet to go! Be assured...writing isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. 
May God give me the ability for a strong finish and may the fans of the series be pleased to have come along for the journey.

----------------

Here is a video trailer for the new book: