My WIP is now officially in the hands of my CPs. Today was the deadline I’d set for myself for this latest round of revisions, but I actually finished late Sunday evening.
Which means I should feel elated! proud! relieved! yay! So...why do I just feel sort of lost and a little melancholy?
I mean, don’t get me wrong. There’s a sense of relief that I finished this round, and finished it on time, dammit! And I definitely feel proud. I busted my ass to get the WIP in the shape it’s in now. But, I’m not really feeling elated or yay.
It’s not nerves. Sure, I’m anxious to get some outside feedback on my writing, but I’m confident that there are good parts as well as some sucky parts. :) Anticipation of the critique isn’t bothering me.
Part of it is losing that sense of single-minded purpose, I suppose. As exhausting as it is at times, there’s something comforting in the simplicity of always knowing what you should be doing (which is to say, writing). Not to say that’s changed, but I do need a break. I’ll be back at the next story before too long.
I think that’s part of it, too. Part of me doesn’t want to let this story go. I’m in love with it. I love the world, the characters, the story told in this book and the stories waiting to be told in future books. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back to it again because it won't get published.
How about you? Do you go through any moods or phases when you wrap up a book?
In the meantime, I plan on devouring a sizeable chunk of my TBR shelf. I desperately need to refill the well, so to speak, and a good, long reading binge sounds just about right. That, and maybe some time spent with the cute guy who seems to be living with me. I think someone referred to him as my husband the other day, but I’ve been married to my laptop for months now, so that can’t be right...
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