You have to understand, I haven’t finished writing a full length book for over 15 years. I’ve written dozens of beginnings, got quite a few past the mid-way point, but not actually finished one.
But this time, I didn’t get bored. I didn’t run out of inspiration half way through. I didn’t skip my writing time to do something else. I didn’t give into laziness and read instead. I actually finished the book.
I’m quite gobsmacked.
It still needs work. It needs a re-write to fix a few problems – there’s one character introduced at the start who’s seen 3 times and then never again. I just forgot about him, but he’ll either have to be deleted, or leave in a mysterious way. There’s probably a pile of continuity errors. There are themes and devices I only came up with half way through writing the book, so I’ll need to go back and make sure they’re in the first half.
And then I have to put it away for a month. Then get it out and read it through with fresh eyes, making sure it works, and that it’s as good a read as I thought it was when I was writing it. Then there’s the whole battle of finding a publisher.
But it’s there. A finished manuscript. All the tricks and devices I came up with to get me through writing this book actually worked.
As for what next – I assumed when I finished this book, I’d take a break for a few weeks. But my imagination has other ideas. It’s already prodding me to start the next book. And there’s a good chance this time I’ll finish this one too.
For once, and this is a rare feeling for me. I’m actually proud of myself.