I should be celebrating. Yesterday I finally stamped 'finished' on draft 3 of WIP and just to prove the point printed the whole thing off. (At this stage I'm done with major plot tweaks so I reckon it's worth having a hard copy for future read throughs). Yes, I know, I should be jumping up and down, kissing the cat (if I had one) and lining the living room with bunting. But I'm not.
Maybe it's just me, but when I limp across the finish line I'm so sick of the thing it's more of a relief than a joyful starburst. Now I just feel flat and at a bit of a loss.
With nine days till the start of Nanowrimo I am still dithering about whether to start something new. But I'm torn. I really feel exhausted and the thought of having to churn out 1700 words every day for a month doesn't fill me with unbridled enthusiasm. But who knows, this time next week my juices might be flowing again. You never know.