I have that empty feeling inside my stomach. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s sorrow. Maybe it’s the bittersweet. Ironically, I had a short “Pinterest-comment conversation” with the lovely Ysa Rivas about typing “The End” of your book. If she’ll allow me—forgive me, Ysa, I didn’t ask permission—here is the first part of our conversation about this pin:
Ysa: THE END is the saddest thing in the world to type.
Me: Really?? I would say it’s the happiest. . . .
LOL. Not really, because you are in a sense “leaving” your characters, but at least you know you’ve accomplished something! For my first draft it won’t be very sad—triumphant, I’d say—because I finally, after almost three years of work, finished, and I can move on to draft two.Happiest? No. Accomplished something? Well yeah—that is, believe it or not, the first time I finished a novel! Triumphant? Sort of. But I’m mostly just in the middle. . .thinking all this is weird, not believing I have to go all the way back to the beginning, happy I get to implement this nifty schedule, sad that I don’t get to even begin that schedule until October 8, wondering what project I should start on during the next six weeks, thinking that my college English class will take up all of that time and more. . . .
If you’re not the sentimental type and are wondering why I’m being a little overdramatic, it’s kinda because I’ve invested at least 225 hours into this 225,000-word novel over the course of 972 days. If I’d been paid minimum wage (for the state of Washington), this book would have been worth over $2,000. But no. . .this journey isn’t exactly measurable. It’s priceless.
Now I get to start it all over again.
