Sorry it’s been so quiet around here. I spent the last week deep in the Cave of Revisions. Today I typed THE END (I don’t do that until I’ve finished the very last draft) and submitted Deadtown‘s sequel to my editor. Whew.
Now I’m emerging from my cave, blinking, half-surprised to see the leaves starting to change color and the neighborhood kids on their way to school. I’ve spent so much time immersed in my fantasy world that it’s a little hard to get my bearings in the real world again.
For me, typing THE END is the definition of bittersweet. It’s a great feeling to have finished another novel. But for each draft, I find that my momentum slows waaaay down as I get near the end. It’s not exactly a fear of finishing, but I do feel an extreme reluctance to say, “That’s it. There’s the story.” Of course, there’s always the urge to go back and tinker, but it’s more than that. I’ve created a home for myself in the world of Deadtown. I love deepening my sense of how that world works. I love spending time with my characters. It’s really, really hard to step away from all that.
Of course, when I get my editorial letter in a few months, I’ll be back in the thick of it — and probably wishing I could just hurry up and be done with this novel already. But right at this moment, I feel like I’ve shut the door on one of my favorite places.
Good thing I’m writing a series. Because coming to the end of the current novel has sparked all kinds of ideas of what’s going to happen in the next one. So tonight, I’ll sit down and start writing out some of those ideas. In a week or so, I’ll have a loose plot outline. And then I’ll be able to type the only two words that can work as the antidote for “the end”: CHAPTER ONE.