I'll just say it.
I've been writing a young adult novel for the past year-and-a-half. Or so. I had to do something to take my mind off the drudgery of the revising, submitting, waiting cycle in which my literary fiction manuscript is caught.
Anyway, today I finished the YA rough draft. Now begins the editing. But, truly, it was a relative breeze to write and, beyond some serious cutting (it's 65,000 words, which I hear is a little long for a first YA manu.) and some tweaking, I don't think it needs a ton. I'll probably change my mind as soon as I go back to page 1 and begin re-reading. Right now, though, I'm a little high on my accomplishment and am not about to sully it with self-doubt. I have enough of that in other parts of my life.
The working title is Spectacle, and it's about an extremely tall teenager (surprise!) navigating family/friend/boyfriend issues, all complicated by how she feels about her very long body.
Also of tall note, my most recent column for Momicillin is up and it has to do with (surprise again!) my daughter's height.