Strife is done. The lovely, awesome beta readers are giving it a final look (because they rock, completely) and I am reading through it again on my Kindle to catch any errant goofs, but…yeah. It’s done. And I’m recognizing that finishing a book leaves me with a mix of emotions: exuberant, relieved, nervous, and maybe a little depressed.
Writing a book is a roller coaster. Theres’s the “I am goddamn unstoppable!” sense in the beginning, when I’m writing hot and reaching five to seven (and as high as ten) thousand words per day and the story is flowing and everything is perfect. And then there’s that middle bit, where things vary between “this is so much fun!” and “please for the love of god can this just be finished now” depending on the day. And then there’s the mad rush to the end, that moment of pure “oh hell yeah!!” when I type “The End.”
Editing requires an entirely different mindset: cold, cool, detached focus. It requires me to cut entire scenes that really don’t work, to recognize my own wordiness. It requires me to lose any sense of preciousness about the work. The good thing about it is that, for my entire life, no one has ever been harder on me than I am. 🙂
And then, it’s done and I’m nervous and having little panic attacks about “oh, should I have done THAT?” Closure comes when I’m starting the next book. And that’s where I am right now.
Starting All Over Again
It kind of boggles my mind to realize that I’m starting my sixth and seventh books (Hidden, Book Five and the next Hidden novella). And even though Lost Girl, Broken, and some of Home were written long before now, It’s really only been a year since I decided to take the idea of actually publishing them seriously. Lost Girl came out in December. Less than six months ago (and what a crazy six months it’s been!)
One thing I’m recognizing is that, just as I have a process during writing, I have a process for beginning writing as well. It looks like me screwing around, or faffing about, as one of my lovely Twitter pals would say. I read comics. I scroll through Pinterest and Tumblr a lot more than usual. I can’t seem to fill my head with enough things, enough images, enough music. I play World of Warcraft and observe the weapons and armor. And I get annoyed with myself, because I am supposed to be WRITING, for crying out loud.
I really don’t like this part of it. It makes me feel lazy and restless. But this is my process. I will reach a point (and I feel like I’m nearly there) when I just can’t stop myself from getting started. When the words will come, and I’m pulled into my own little fictional world again.
Here’s to trusting the process!