Writing a novel – reaching through an entire, full length piece of work right up to the end – is a feeling like none other you can imagine.
I’ve just typed The End on the first draft of Ether, and the feelings are here now. There’s Elation, having just completed writing a full-length novel of 80+ words. Then Satisfaction at a job well, or at least closely related to well, done. Pride sneaks in there, sin or not, because loads of people say they write, but only a percentage of them accomplish The End.
After those, others creep in. A sense of Dread, because now is when the hard work begins – the editing, polishing, and query writing/agent search. A little Fear, because now I’ll have to send my new baby out and pray she finds the right agent at the right time in the right place. Exhaustion, because the next idea has to start at page 1 and start from the beginning all over again.
And Panic, because now I have to sort through the myraid of other ideas that didn’t get written this time and pick the one to go next! There’s no time to wallow it any of them, though. Too much work to be done. Edits, queries, synopsis, research, and more writing.
The only cure for these feelings is to ignore them because you’re too busy writing your next novel. But I’m going to take the next 12 hours to sit and stare numbly at the screen, if you don’t mind 😀
Then it’s back to work!