And I made it.
I set a goal of finishing the first draft of this novel for three months after my 28th birthday. And I made it. I finished the core writing about three weeks ago and worked for the past week on editing for basic sense, comma issues (just because they drive me nuts!) and use of active verbs.
I handed over the first copy for someone to read this evening. My writing “friend” (I guess I should call him) received the copy at 8 p.m. this evening just as I promised three months ago.
It feels good. I’m tired. I can’t deny that. My brain is exhausted. And I’m a little physically worn out, but it feels good to be done. At the very least, it feels good to not be the one reading it anymore. So, I’m happy about that.
And what next?
Start again. No, really. I already have the basic plot structure written out for my next book. I think I’m going to give myself a couple of days to cleanse my brain from this one, and then really get to work on character sketches and a more detailed plot outline. I need to look at a calendar, but I think my goal for the completion of that is going to be right before I go back to teaching so I can write the draft once the school year starts.
And even writing that down gets me excited. So, I’m happy about that. I feared that finishing this one would satiate my desire to write, and then I’d be really bored for about a year, but I’m excited that I’m excited to start again.
Yes, it does it feel good. It feels very good, indeed.