Yesterday
was a momentous day for me. First off, Peacemaker released, and if you haven’t
downloaded it yet, why not? You’re going
to make Ernst cry.
Why
do you want to make the jackalope cry??
What kind of monster are you?
Second,
I finally finished JJD4. It’s not really
a first draft. It’s more what I call an ugly draft. I’ll mess with it for a few more days, and
then I’ll probably send it out to my Beta Slaves this weekend. (If this means you, brace yourselves, it’s
incoming). While they’ve got it, I’ll
probably be pricing some editing services, as well as cover artists, to try and
find some folk that I can work with (and can afford). I’m desperately wanting to do this one
without running a Kickstarter, so financial stuff has to be considered. What this ultimately means is that we’re
still a few months out from you, my awesome readers, being able to see it, but
it’s closer! It’s so much closer. I’m still shooting for this summer, at some
point. I’ll keep you posted.
However,
finishing a book always puts me in a weird mood for a few days, and I thought
I’d blog about it. (As one does about such things.) I actually wanted to do this post when I
finished writing The Musicbox Girl,
but couldn’t wrap my head around everything that I wanted to say before the
feeling just faded away and I kinda lost what I’d wanted to do. So, you get it now, hopefully while all my
thinks are still freshly thunk.
Completing
a novel feels great. Heck, for me,
completing a grocery list feels pretty damn life affirming. Anyone who has ever tried to write anything
knows that there is a satisfaction to coming up with a coherent beginning,
middle and end, no matter if you’re writing a novel, a short story, or a dirty
limerick. (Love me some dirty limericks) You have done SOMEthing.
But
the part that gets to me, every single time, is this profound sense of loss I
feel. Suddenly, all of the scenes and
lines and people that I’ve been living with in my head for months are
gone. You have no idea how long some of
the things you read have been percolating in my gray matter (multiple years, in
some cases). And once it’s on paper, once
it’s brought to life, it’s just…gone. I
have a giant, novel-shaped hole in my brain.
Part
of me has to wonder if this is what it’ll feel like when kiddo grows up and
moves out of the house. You spend all
this time, tending and nurturing something, and then suddenly it has a life of
its own, and it doesn’t need you anymore.
Yeah, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, and you’re happy, but for at
least a little bit, you’re also suddenly lonely. There’s a genuine feeling of mourning.
Now,
this giant gaping hole won’t last forever.
I think of it like a foot print in wet soil. Slowly, the water seeps back in and fills up
the emptiness. Already, I can feel my
plans and plots for my MBG revision seeping in there. Soon, the hole in my brain will be taken up
with that novel, and once I finish revising that, then another novel will seep
its way in. And another after that, and
another, ad infinitum. (Hopefully)
So
the loneliness and loss don’t last very long, especially if I’ve got other
projects loudly demanding attention. But
for just a few days, finishing a novel is a bittersweet victory. So long, Jesse & Axel and the rest of you
crazy kooks. I’ll see you again in a few
months.
