I can’t explain it. I’ve completed several novels at this point (One published online Channillo.com; the now four unpublished). Each time I see the end coming, I dread it. For the months that I lived with characters, they have completed their time with me. It is too much like saying goodbye. I started this one on April 26th, 2020. It allowed me to escape all the madness of the world and tune out the sickening thud of humankind splatting against its hubris. Now, on August 4th, 2020 at 2:09pm, at 99K words, the last word was typed.
The journey it took me on had me learning about our history, forgotten times, other cultures, and go on an adventure of a lifetime. Characters that haunted me with no home for months appeared on the pages, and I got to follow them. I will miss lying in bed to sleep, trying to think of how they would get through it all. What would happen?
Now, though, the real work begins. The manuscript will go out to trusted beta readers. I will await feedback. Try to forget as much as I can about the novel by figuring out what is next in the queue. Then the revisions. Revise, edit, rinse, repeat.
For now, I feel like something is missing, something big. I will miss all the characters for a while, but hopefully, I can introduce the world to them soon. Still, damn if I don’t want to have a drink with some of them. I got those work in progress first draft completion blues.