So, I finished my novel a few weeks ago and I felt as I expected: relieved, elated, proud, and determined to get through the edits required to drop my word count to a publishable 90, 000.
What I didn’t expect? Sadness.
Yes, that’s right.
I’m the mopey dude in the B grade rom-com, because you see, soon, very soon… my novel will be leaving me.
This isn’t the first novel I’ve ever written. I’ve got another one, prior to this, tucked away in a file box in the basement. I didn’t get all sad when that one ended. So I didn’t expect it to happen now.
I guess this novel is more important to me. More intense. We travelled together longer.
And it’s done, save for a few tweaks. It doesn’t need me as much anymore.
It’s the end of an era.
*Cue the sentimental music. Cue the rain falling.*
Oh, sure. There will be other novels. I’ve got two in the works, percolating in the back of my brain. One’s even a sequel to this one.
But, right in this moment, they don’t have that allure. I want my old novel back! I don’t want that particular story to be over!
Come back, beautiful novel, come back!
I guess this is how it is with endings sometimes. There is the sting and the pause and the remembering all the times you’ve shared and you’ve got to stare out the window at their form growing smaller and smaller in the distance as they head off to a bright new future without you.
Indeed: ‘parting is such sweet sorrow’.
Now excuse me while I go weep softly, re-read old drafts and listen to this song over and over. Or maybe this song? Or this? Looks like I need a mixed tape to get me through this ‘My Novel is Over’ transition.
Any suggestions, fellow writers?
Never had that issue. I’ve got so many ideas floating around in my head, that I’ll never get them all done.
So there’s always something more to be doing 🙂