I'm sorry.
The Reluctant Huntress has been a long time coming, and while it is nearly all completed, there is still some work to do. You see, I messed up. TRH's delay is all my fault. I've been dishonest with myself. I told myself that writing is an insular task, but it is not. The truth is I've never done it on my own before. I always had a help, a champion, a sounding-board, a critic. My mother played that role for years though I did notice until she was ripped away. After her death, I found myself unable to write. I stewed in grief and fear. An entire year went by without me writing a proper sentence. I became ill, physically and emotionally. I am still dealing with these illnesses today.
Eight months ago, I met a new friend. She eventually became my beta-reader/editor, and I found in her a champion and a sounding-board. I found myself writing again, with fervor. Being able to talk to someone about my characters made a huge difference. Having a friend who understood and did not just nod indulgently made me feel less isolated with my characters. But then, like people do, this friend and champion, left. I was devastated to find myself alone once more with this story and these characters. I don't know if anyone cares about them anymore. I do. I love Morgan and Aubrey so much. I suppose when there is someone for me to speak with about them, then it motivates me, because I can see they mean something to others too.
I've wasted weeks trying to find my way back to TRH. Trying to finish what I started (hmm, an entire well of confessions in that one line). Here I am again, picking up where I left off. Perhaps, I will start sharing here whether anyone comes to read it or not.
Because in the end all that matters is that this story is told. I have sat on it for far too long. Kept it within me to the point where I now hurt.