Seven Degrees Left of Center

6 a.m., Second Half

It is six in the morning.
The coffee is fresh. That alone feels like a small victory.

I am halfway through "Sable's Run" , starting the second half, which means I have crossed an invisible line. Not finished. Not polished. Just far enough in that the story no longer feels theoretical. It exists. It has weight.

There is a strange accomplishment in this moment. Not the kind you post about with fireworks or checklists. It is the quiet kind. The kind that sits with you while the house is still asleep and the only sound is the page turning and the coffee cooling beside you.

The second half is where stories either hold together or start asking uncomfortable questions. Why am I here. Did I set this up well enough. Am I brave enough to let it end the way it wants to end.

This morning, I am not fixing anything. I am not revising myself out of the story. I am just reading. Letting Sable run. Letting the work speak back to me.

Maybe that is the accomplishment.
Showing up early.
Pouring the coffee.
And realizing the story carried me this far.