One of the main characters in my novel has a glaring flaw. A couple of scenes still feel clunky. I may or may not have a plot hole.

If it weren’t for deadlines, I might have gone on editing my novel forever. There’s always something that can be improved. Rough parts can be made better. Good parts can be made great.

Wednesday night, my deadline came. With Susan waiting out in the driveway, I saved the final copy of my novel to a thumb drive, and off we went. Thirty minutes later, I walked out of Office Depot with 570 pages (285 pages x 2) and a pack of cardboard paper mailers — the required delivery system for graduate projects everywhere.

Thursday afternoon, I arrived at the University of Oklahoma with those same two boxes tucked under my arm. In all, I delivered three copies — one digitally, one to a mailbox, and the third directly to the chair of my graduate committee. Over the next two weeks, those three professors (who, between the three of them, have published more than two-hundred novels) will read, critique, and hopefully not snicker at my work.

At the end of those two weeks, I’ll meet with those same three professors and defend what I wrote in a process that, at least in my head, resembles the “Trial by Stone” scene from The Dark Crystal.

At the end of my two-hour defense, the members of my committee will take a vote. Thumbs up means I graduate. Thumbs down, they poke my eye out. Okay, I don’t really know what happens if you fail. I’m going to spend the next two weeks skimming all the notes I’ve taken over the past two and a half years to make sure that doesn’t happen. The one thing I won’t be doing, for the first time in eight months, is working on my novel.

The end is in sight. Wish me luck!