This is one of those “days in a writer’s life” posts, so if you just rolled your eyes because you’ve read way more of them than you find interesting, I won’t be offended if you run on over to another blog. Come back tomorrow!
I am melancholy today. Because this morning I typed “The End” and closed the file I’ve opened every day (even non-working ones) for the past nine months. Good heavens! It sounds like a pregnancy, doesn’t it? Or a school year?
Well...kinda. Because writing a book, like pregnancy or a year of school, are seasons in life. It’s a time of learning, of growing (some times more than other), of being so tired you absolutely know you can’t face another day. It’s emotionally satisfying, emotionally draining, and...emotional. Start to finish.
In the middle of pregnancy, of the school year, and of the book, there is the tendency to wonder if it’s ever going to end. There’s already too much weight gain, too many Cs on too much homework, too much angst. There is the morning when you hit a wall and collapse in a puddle of woe. I can’t do it!
And then after long labor, excruciating finals, or the exhaustion of writing a Black Moment, it is over. The baby is here, the school bus doesn’t drive by the house every morning at 7:23, or you’ve typed, yes, blessed Lord, “The End.”
This is where the melancholy sets in. It’s too early to go back over the just-finished manuscript; it has to settle. I don’t want to rush into the next one because it needs to perk a while before it forms into words on the page. I could go on a reading frenzy, but I’ve gotten out of that habit—I enjoy reading much more when I just do because I feel like it.
So today I’ve put up some Christmas decorations—though I’m not in the mood. I’ve spent way too much time on Facebook. I dusted a little. I am reminded of those days at the end of the school years when the babies I was pregnant for—at least two years for each one—graduated. I was bewildered then just as I am today.
We’re going out to dinner in a couple of hours. I’ll look at a menu, laugh with the friends across the table, and look around. Maybe...no, probably, I will see or hear something I’ll need to write down or say out loud so I don’t forget it. I’ll add it to the notes I’ve made for the next project.
And tomorrow I’ll open a new file.