I had it all planned—two weeks (13 days, actually) off from work. No school, except to make sure semester grades were entered by the January 2nd deadline. Thirteen days to read comments, suggestions, and hopefully a little praise from my editor on the first draft of the My Invisible Father sequel, My Invisible Name. Then make revisions and, by the first of the year, move on to the next phase of the journey.
That plan would only work if I didn’t have to write a whole new draft.
That’s exactly what happened with My Invisible Father. After receiving feedback from my editor, I agreed to write an entirely different draft. I kept two chapters from the original and rewrote the rest, cutting some characters and adding new ones—including two new main characters. At the time, I thought rewriting an entire draft sounded crazy. I didn’t think I had the patience for that.
But I did it.
And I’m grateful I did.
When I look back at that first draft, the difference between it and the final version is undeniable. I thought I’d learned my lesson. So with My Invisible Name, I worked hard to make the first draft as strong as possible—revising after beta reader feedback and doing everything I could to “get it right” before sending it to my editor.
I sent it off with a December 17 due date, perfectly timed—two days before winter break. I planned to spend those days revising before school resumed.
Then life happened. My editor became ill and couldn’t meet the deadline. I understood completely. Still, my patience wore thin—not because of her unfortunate sickness, but because my carefully planned routine unraveled. When plans fall apart, it affects me more than I’d like to admit.
So here I am, on the final day of 2025, still waiting. School resumes in less than a week, and once grading and lesson prep begin, it becomes difficult to maintain consistent dedication to my writing. That pushes my personal deadline back further than I want.
Releasing this book before the end of the school year matters to me. I have students who’ve been with me all year—and others who are waiting for this sequel. Releasing it over the summer would mean losing that momentum. And patience, quite frankly, might be lost too.
Patience has never come easily for me.
Maybe that’s because patience is invisible. You can’t see it working. Impatience, though, shows up physically—through tension, shallow breathing, fatigue, and restlessness. When impatience becomes a habit, it keeps the body in a constant state of alert.
So… patience it is.
I’m learning that patience isn’t about sitting still or pretending frustration doesn’t exist. It’s about staying committed when the timeline falls apart. It’s about trusting the work even when progress can’t be seen. Patience is the quiet strength that keeps me writing, revising, and waiting—because the story is worth it. And so are the readers waiting with me.
Here’s to a safe, productive, and patient 2026 for all of us.