I've delivered the MS for Dead End to my publisher and am back to polishing my next MS, which is virtually finished.
On paper (sorry!) I've achieved a heck of a lot in 2010 with Cut Short shortlisted for a major award, Road Closed well reviewed and selling as fast as Cut Short, and not one but two more books written.
So as the year draws to a close, I should be feeling pretty pleased with myself.
But (one of the most powerful words in the English language. Like an inconspicuous pivot, almost invisible, it turns everything around) I'm feeling deflated, low, dejected, fed up. (Love blogging where I can repeat, reiterate, witter on in horrendous prose, unlike my 'professional' prose or, as Katie Price allegedly calls it my "book words").
How do other writers react when they reach the end of the monumental (sometimes monstrous) creative effort that goes into writing a book?
Do you party? crawl away and hide? or indulge in rambling on a blog?
This isn't only a question for writers, of course. It applies equally at the conclusion of any task that has required effort. How do we enjoy achievement when the work is done? or do we only feel alive when we're facing challenge? What about the challenge of coping when the challenge is over? (OK, I'll stop now.)