This morning I finished my last chapter of The Bookseller, my first completed novel, a mystery set in contemporary Edinburgh. I expected to be in celebratory mood. It has only taken something like 2 years out of my life, after all. (Admittedly, I haven't stopped doing all the other stuff and there has been a lot of other writing in the gaps - but psychologically this has been a big commitment)
So I expected to feel more than a little euphoric, but actually a feel quite sad. OK the ending was a bit poignant, maybe it's just the residue from that. But really, I feel cheated. No applause, no rush of excitement, just a weird feeling of something having finally come to a close.
Maybe it'll hit me tomorrow.
2 comments:
Congratulations Sandra
I applaud you for the achievement. To complete a novel is no mean feat.
I finished my edit on Thursday - had an hour of euphoria then felt completely knackered. Because sadly, I know it's not really the end. One more edit - I hope - then I'll be sending it off. But do I think it will end there - very unlikely. If it's taken on by anyone I expect to do a lot more work to it.
I guess what I'm saying is - how do we really know when we've finished? When it ends up on a bookshelf in a shop? Is that when we'll really allow ourselves that euphoria of being well and truly finished?!
But Sandra, I congratulate you again because for all the people who start a novel, you're one of the few who has written the whole thing. :)
Thanks, Tracy. I know what you mean. I had been intending to read it out loud to my OH and I'm putting it off because I know I will see lots of things I could change. But it has to be done.
I'm also dreading the synopsis. Do we really do this for fun...?
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