To hold the book in my hands. Not a stack of notebooks full of my terrible penmanship, doodles and expletives in the margins. Not a computer on my lap with bright page after page of Garamond text zoomed 175% to accommodate my near-sighted astigmatism. Not a stack of printer paper held together by tacks, or straining against staples. The product of four and a half years of trying and failing and doubting and trying some more. The thing I feared I'd never have, and then feared I wouldn't care about by the time I possessed it. I have it in my hands, and I still care. So much.