Every time I say “my first novel” it sounds more like a children’s craft kit that I could buy for my three year old goddaughter rather than the achievement that it actually is. I keep picturing a printed copy of my book, with a title page etched in bright crayon, hanging on my mother’s fridge.

But even with the desire to downplay what I’ve done, I am sensible enough to realize this is a big moment. It’s a moment I may never get back, because it “My Very First Novel” and as silly as it makes me feel to prize that distinction, I’m going to. Tuesday morning, at 3:09 am, I finished my seventh draft of The Ashes.

The Ashes is the story of 23 year old Chloe Wright who follows her mother to the small town of Monarch to fix their broken relationship. Her mother grew up in Monarch and has come back after decades of absence to take care of her aging and death-obsessed mother, Anne. Anne was, at one time, the most influential woman in town, and her house where she lived with her husband Peter, was the most important house in town. Once there, Chloe forges deep relationships with the outcasts of the town and discovers deep hurts and rumors from her grandparents’ past that continue to affect the town and her family. Her struggle between figuring herself out and living up to a newly-discovered legacy pushes her family and the town to confront its own divisions. But the pull of tradition and past legacies may prove to be too much.

It’s a novel about community, building it not just for the sake of the desire to be social, but because alone, we as people whither away. It’s about fighting the poison of bitterness and bigotry. The Ashes explores relationships between the generations, authority, individuality and the consequences of expressing hallowed traditions in new ways. And all throughout the town and the story, The Ashes is about love that never leaves a person, for better or worse, as the years go on, no matter the gender, the age or circumstance of departure. Love is both the pulse and the scar tissue in the heart of this community.

I first came up with the idea in May 2003. I am still shocked that it’s done, that a final grammar and spell check are all that’s left on the horizon. This story has been worked on while submerged under the glassy surface of lakes, on trains in Northern England, in the countryside around my house in Washington, in the Cascade mountains, driving at dawn with my husband, and of course, at my desk. It almost never happened for a hundred reasons, most of them health, school, stress and work related. But my husband Vasant was amazing throughout it the entire journey. The book would’ve never materialized without him. I am, somehow, less ADD and tempestuous with him around. He’s a stabilizing force in my mind. His attention, his care, his encouragement and creative input give me a focus and a confidence I’ve never had in my life.

My parents and sisters have also been incredible. Their constant encouragement, whether it was reading the latest draft or coming by our place with flowers, food or back rubs, got me through the last tough year as I pushed to finally finish this. My parents were the ones who started my love of reading and story telling, who first encouraged me to write books when I was a kid. My sisters were willing participants in all the plays and imaginary games I staged, even the ones with over-the-top dramatic twists at the end. Throughout the years, my family has supported me as a storyteller and that’s no less true this last year. I have only had a handful of weekends off for the last year and a half. My nights, my mornings, every free second has gone into a push to get this novel finally into concrete existence. It is now out of my head and into the hands of my family, and soon, hopefully, will be in the hands of many more. I’ve appreciated my husband, my parents, my sisters and the friends who have stuck by me through thick and thin in this last year. I’ve loved the interaction with other writers and readers on Twitter and Tumblr, and I cannot wait to share this book with the larger world. Thank you to all the wonderfuls who have believe in me and more importantly, who told me emphatically that I could not give up on this book. That it needed TO BE. Thank you to all who never let me entertain the thoughts of giving up. This book exists because of all of us. I appreciate and love you all.