Well, it’s finished. Done. Complete. My manuscript, my darling favorite story ever, has passed muster with my editor and has been sent to my publisher. It’s out of my hands and soon to be in the hands of paying customers everywhere.
I feel proud. And happy. And unabashedly excited for people to read it. Blood Money has had a long road, but I’ll always remember it as one of my favorite pieces.
Why? Because the characters are special to me. The story was such a surprise to me. It was the book that taught me how to craft a novel, and even though it’s changed quite a bit since I wrote the first draft two years ago, I’ll always recognize where it came from in what it is now.
You’d think that I’d want to take a break from writing for awhile. I mean, I’ve been feverishly editing and revising this book for four months, to say nothing of the extensive editing and re-writes I did for the two years prior to now.
And yet, I’m not craving a break. What I’m craving is another first draft. Whereas I’m thrilled that Lily is my last baby and have no desire to keep having children so I’ll always have babies to hold, I have a deep desire to create a new book. I want that challenge again. I want to meet new characters, and watch them get into trouble, and stay up all night wondering how they’ll get out of it.
I haven’t completed a manuscript since April 2011 (yes, I keep track of that sort of thing) and I’m ready. I have an idea that’s so excellent it woke me up a few months ago, and I want to turn that idea into a book.
My very first manuscript ever (Blood Money) is all grown up and going to the publisher, so now I need a new book to bring into the world and then polish and then revise and then re-write and then maybe, just maybe, release into the wild.
It’s also possible that I need therapy to figure out why my books are like children.