Ah, the glamorous life of a full-time writer. I was working yesterday and Chanti wanted out, so I got up and put her out. Two minutes later she wanted in, so I got up and brought her in. Shaun was in the kitchen as I said, “You want in, you want out, you want in, you want out,” and then I said to him, “Welcome to my life,” which made him laugh out loud.
This morning my cousin Erik called to check up on whether I still wanted to work on his company’s website, and I sounded a bit groggy, ’cause I’d been at the computer all morning, and he said, “Did I wake you up?” I said no, I’d been writing, and he said, “Oh no, and I interrupted the flow of thought!” Well, no, I confessed, actually at that very moment I’d been in the middle of a game of solitaire. *laugh* He felt better after that. :)
I completely blew two batches of bread. Apparently I wrote the recipe down wrong, so I’m going to have to get it again. :P Now a third (different recipe) is baking and it smells delicious and I’m starving to death. Need to drink more water, as I just had a snack.
I’m on the downward end of this book. I wonder how other novelists I know feel when they finish writing a book. I seem to recall a lot of triumph when I finished my first one, and being pretty pleased when I finished my second, especially as I’d given myself a deadline and stuck to it. I was astonished and extremely satisfied when I finished ANGLES, because it’s got a complicated structure and it all wove together really, really well, and I finished the first draft of HEART OF STONE faster than I expected to have to, so I was pleased with getting it done.
But I think the predominant emotion I feel upon finishing a novel these days is relief. Not like I didn’t think I could do it, but rather more like…I’m glad it’s done, but not sufficiently happy to call it happy. Just relieved. Pleased, but not gleeful. Sometimes cheerful (I’m feeling pretty cheery right now, and I’m not even done yet!) but mostly just … satisfied. There: that’s done. That sort of thing.
FIREBIRD DECEPTION is my 8th solo novel and my 9th overall. (10th, if you count Banshee Cries, which is technically a novella. Does it count?) Possibly one becomes jaded to having finished the thing after you’ve done it half a dozen times or so.
I think right now the part I really *like* is going back and reading the manuscript several weeks later, after I’ve gotten agent/editorial comments, and seeing where it can be improved and seeing that overall, hey, you know, that turned out to be a pretty good story after all! I’m almost always lots happier with having finished it at that point, which no doubt is due to the distance.
1700 words so far this morning. I have as few as 3 and as many as 5 chapters left, I believe. Almost there! *chugga chugga chugga*
miles to Rauros Falls: 290
miles to Hobbiton: 192.3
(ETA: I just got fan mail for IMMORTAL BELOVED, which happens to be the afore-mentioned second book. I am unconscionably fond of that book, and *love* getting fan mail about it. Someday, *someday*, I will write my other two Methos novels…)