Shadows stretch across my light-grey studio wall like fingers reaching for the light switch, urging the room to fall dark and for me to call it a day. Ignoring the invitation, I turn back to my keyboard, take a breath, close my eyes, and reflect on the week spent working on my manuscript’s second draft. Today’s been special—though, since starting this creative writing process, most days are. In my last journal post, I mentioned it’s been six months since typing ‘The End

I’m sitting in my newly converted home office, looking south over the moss‑covered red‑tile roof of our neighbour’s home to a line of autumn‑coloured trees hiding most of the nearby street in South Hurstville, Sydney. The sun is slipping away to the west, tinting the late‑afternoon sky with soft pinks and oranges. A golden palm just to my right waves gently, catching the last breaths of the day’s breeze. I’m excited, a little nervous, and trying to quiet the whispering vo