Printed

I experienced the strangest sensation yesterday. I printed out WIP#1 for a proofread. I've been working on this manuscript for nearly a year now, but I've only done it electronically. As I picked up the stack of papers from the copier and saw my words, my tale on those sheets, I was stunned.

Never did I anticipate those feelings. I've written assignments for school and work and printed them out both for proofing and turning in. I've got pages and pages of city council minutes that I composed that are permanent records to be reviewed (or not) by future generations.

But this was something of my own creation that I was holding in my hands. It's probably a piece of crap that no one will want to read much less publish, but it's mine. The child, in a sense, of my mind.