I can remember in the lead up to my wedding, wondering briefly what we’d talk about after the wedding took place. For months, that was all we talked about, and everything else got shunted off and back burnered. And after the wedding, it almost felt off to not be talking about it. But then two months later, I found out I was pregnant with my first child, and then next thing I knew, it was nine years later, I had three kids, and was writing this blog.
I finished the second draft of Searching for Ellen last night. And then sent my editor an email with the words, “Are you ready?” written in them. When he responded with, “Are you?” (he’s nothing if not awesome for just taking my odd quirks as part of the fun that is me), I sent him the word .doc and then cried for about an hour.
I’m relieved to be finished with this part of the process. And while the length of the book qualifies it as a novella, still, my experience with writing and publishing my work has been in poetry, autobiographical essay, erotica short stories, and fiction short stories. For me, its a bit of a strange twist to actually have written something that’s the same story throughout.
And I’m thrown a bit by the idea that I won’t be getting it back any time soon. Certainly, I’m very welcoming to the idea of a break from a book I started thirteen years ago, not to mention a book that was emotionally draining. But the benefit of writing short story collections is that you can complete one, send it off to your editor, and you get it back within a day or two. You go onto the next one, whenever you get to it, and the cycle is repeated until you have enough stories to compile and then publish. Poetry is different as in you’re not being edited due to the fact there aren’t that many rules in poetry. And since my poetry doesn’t follow any set pattern and is just what’s written across my soul transferred to a word .doc, if I did send the work to an editor, it was for a proof reading purpose.
So now, thirteen years and two days post starting the book, I wonder what to do with myself. Who am I if I’m not writing Searching, rewriting it, annoying my Indie Author friends with can you please read this, or talking about writing it.
Well, for starters, I’m exhausted. And I also have four other WIP’s that I’ve neglected in an effort to finish off the most important book I will ever write. I think I’ll take the day to hang out with a dear friend, and then tomorrow? I think I’ll have a cup of coffee and work on another book.
Or maybe I”ll just breathe.